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POETICAL WORKS 



©F 

^ROBERT BURNS: 

TO WHICH IS PREFIXEB 

HIS LIFF., 

Aa WRITTEN BY HIMSELF, 
AND CONTINUED OR COMMENTED ON BY OTHERS 



PHILADELPHIA : 
PRINTED FOR BENJAMIN CHAPMAN. 



A, SMALL, PRINTEH, 



tsiu 



> 



-X ^v>^A 



^ K^ 




ADDRESS 

FOR THE PRESENT EDITION, 



!OF the works of our Poet, it was said, when but few 
Editions had appeared, that all which had merit, or were 
^ advantageous to his fame had already been published — 
, After editions have shewn the error of that assertion : 
some of his finest pieces have shice appeared : and 
some then published, might have been suppressed — even 
now (in the present offering,} late as it is, will be found 
many excellent pieces which have hitherto escaped the 
atteniion or knowledge of Editors. 

That there are, which " dying he might wish to blot," 
must be acknowledged ; among these however, cannot be 
\ admitted those which bear on certain classes of charac- 
ter ; aberrations of professional men are fair game- 
that he " lo'ed the lasses too'' there can be no doubt ; he 
wrote as though he did, has crav'd forgiveness, and few 
we trust there will bo who will not join in the Amen- — ■ 
Of those entirely exceptionable the first lines only ai-e 
given. -i" 

The arrangement therefore stands thus 
Pieces of first merit, first. 

* Songs follow. 

The appendix receives all others. 

All whiclv^an possibly be deemed exceptionable, yet 
possessing merit are therein inserted — Those decidedly 



iv ADDRESS. 



exceptionable (or what seldom occurs) without merit o 
interest, are excluded, except the first line of each ; so 
that those that wish to shun pieces of certain character, 
have but to close the book at the appendix. Or if thcy^ 
ivill read on^ they have permission to keep their own 
counsel. 

The present edition it is believed, contains at least one 
hundred and fifty pieces or first lines more than any other 
edition yet published : we do not say that they are all new ; 
of that description, few c^n now be expected, — we offer 
the present therefore as possessing the greatest niunber 
of best pieces ever published. 






\ 



CONTENTS, 



A gude new year To his mare Maggie - - 4.5 

A rose bud by my early walks - - - 249 

Adieu! a heart warm fond adieu - - - 244 

Ae day as Death To J. Rankin . - - 392 

Ae bonie mornin* T/ie Siller gun - - J 93 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever - - - 253 

Again rejoicing nature sees - - - 318 

Again the silent wheels of time To Miss /.. - 115 

A' ye wha live by sowps On a Scots Bard - 62 

Although my bed were in yon muir - • - 307 

Although thou maun never be mine - - 337 

All hail inexorable Lord 7b Rui?i - - -* 66 

Among the heathy hills Onthe fall of Fyers - 174 

Amang the trees where humming bees - 296 

Ance mair I hail thee To December - - 183 

An honest man here lies at rest Ejiiiaph - 184 

An', O for ane and twenty Tarn - - - 237 

As I stood by yon roofless towe# A vision - 184 

As Maiiie an* her lambs The death of Mailie - 104 

As father Adam On a Henjieck'^d Country squire SSQ' 

As on the banks of wandering Nith - - 207 

As I was a wand'ring ae morning in Spring - 257 

As down the burn they took their way - 262 

As Tarn the Chapman Epitaph for T. Kennedy - 395 

Auld Chuckle Reekie *s, sair distressed - 203 

Awa wi' your witchcraft - - - 508 

Ay waking O - - - - 349 

Beauteous rose bud To 3[iss Cruikshank - 186 

Behind yon hills where Lugar flows - - 306 

Blythe, blythe, and merry was she - - 534 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go ^ - - - .353 

Bonnie wee thing, cannie \TCe thing - - 321 

By yon castle wa', at the close of the day - 283 

By Allan stream I chancM to rove - - 293. 

Cauldblaws the wind frae east to west > 3:>7 

Cease ye prudes On Miss Burns - - 39 1 

Clarinda, mistress of my soul - - . 247 

Come let me take thee to my breast : ! 4 



\i CONTENTS. 

» 

Contented wi' little, and cantie \vi' mair 
Curse on ungrateful man _ - . 

Curst be the man The henpecked husband 
Dear S. the sleest p.aiky thief 7b J. S. 
Dire was the fate IVie deem of Faculty 
Does haughty Gaul invasion threat 
Duncan Gray cam here to woo 

Dweller in yon dungeon To the memory of- 

Edina \ Scotia's darling seat Addrefiu to Edb- burgh 

Expect na Sir, in this narration To G. H. esq. - 

Fwir empress of the poet's soul To a lady 

Fair fa your honest To a Haggis 

Fair the face of orient day To Delia 

Fate gave the word ^ mother'*s lament 

Farewell ye dungeons da;rk and strong 

Farewell thou fair day - - 

F^vrewell ihou stream that winding IIom s . 

Farewell dear Mistress of my soul 

Fairest maid on Devon's banks 

Fi'-st lines of Sundry Pieces - . - 

First when Maggie waj^ny care 

Flow gently sweet AftOL - - 

For Lords or Kings Rlegy on 1788 

From thee Elizii I must go - • - 

Fiiend of the poet To Mr. Mitchell 

Gane is the day, and mirk 's the night 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 

Gr:nt me indulgent In a.huh/s fiocket-book 

Gude mornin' to your i; ajeslie A drcaia 

Gude spetd an:^ furder To J. Lajiraik 

Hark, the Uiavis' evening sang - - - 

B.ai poesie thou nymph reserv'd 

Ha ! whar ye i^aun To a I.ouse - - - 

H.d I a cave on some wild disUint shore - 

Hu>^ aukl Kilmariiock TaimSam&om's elegy 

Health • to l!>e Mxwells T^Terraughiy 

Hear land o' ci.kes Grose's peregrinations 

Here Sovvter, **** in dt^.th does sleep Epitaph 

Here lies J. B. Jbpitaph on J. JB. 

Here aw a tiicre awa - - - • 

Here holy Willie's Epitaph on Holy llillie 

Here lies in e.irtli On D. C. _ . , 

Heie is the glen, and here the bower 



CONTENTS. vii 

Here *s a health to ane I loe clear - - 254 

Here 's a health to them that's avva - - 254 

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing - - 320 

How can my poor heart be glad - - 291 

How lung and dreary is tiie night - - 333 

How cold is that bosom Monody - - 210 

How pleasant the banks - - - 183 

Husband, husband, cease your strife - - 286 

I call no goddess To R. Grahain - - 211 

I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing - 214 

I gaed A waefu, gate yestreen - - - 310 

I gat your letter To IV, S. - - - 141 

I hae a wife o' my ain - - - 386 

I hold it sir, my bounden duty To G. Hamilton 215 

i lang hae i bought To a ijoung friend - - 60 
I mind it weel in early date To the guidivife of 

Wauchofie 'house-, - - 191 

I murder hate by field or flood - - 374 

I sing of a whistle The Whittle - - 168 

If thou shalt meet a lassie - - - 349 

I'll ae call in by yon town # - - 558 

Ilk care and fear when tliou art near - - 297 

I "'m three times doubly Second ejdatle to Davie 52 

Inhuman man On a ivounded hare - - 166 

In Mauchline there dwells - - 338 

In simmer when the hay was mawn - - 246 

In politics if thou wotildst mix - - 374 

Instead of a song JRodriei/s victory - - 215 

Is there a whim inspired fool li/nta/ih on himself 68 

Is there for honest poverty - - - 284 

It was upon a lammas night - - 279 

It was the charming month of May - - 313 

John Anderson r.iy jo, John - - 357 

*Jocky 's taen the parting kiss - - 278 

Kembie thou cur'st n.y uiii)e^f To Mr. K. - 217 

Ken ye ought o' captain Grose To Mr. Cardonnel 212 

Kind sir I 've read To a Gentleman - - 213 

Kilmarnock Wabsters The Qrdina(.io7i - 38 1 

'Know thou, v) stranger Efiitafhfor R. A. esq. - 180 

Late crippled of an arsn To R. G. - 160 

Lament 'm Mauchline On a ivag in Mauchline - 390 

Lament in rhyme Poor Maidens elegy - 106 

Lassie wi' the lintwhite locks - - 336 



viii CONTENTS. 

I^ast May a braw wooer 

Let not woman c*er complain 

Let other poets raise a fracas Scotch drink 

Life ne'er exulted Elegy on Miss Burnett 

Louis what reck I by thee, - - 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion 

Musing on the roaring ocean - - . 

My curse on your envenom'd stang To the 

Tootfi-ache - - - 

My heart is a breaking dear Titlie 
My heart is sair 1 dare na tell 
My honor'd Colonel, deep I feel On life 
My Lord, I know your noble ear Brnar water - 
My lov'd my honor'd The Cotter^ s Saturday night 
My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form 
My cantie, wittie &c. The Gude ivij<:^s address 
IMy Mary, dear departed shade 
My bottle is a holy pool - . . - 

My Mary's face, my Mary's form 
My heart 's in the Hijiphlnnds , - _ 

My Father was a farmer - . . 

N: e gentle dames, tho' e'er so fair 
No churchman am I - - - 

No more of your guests To Mr. S. - - 

No more ye warblers On the death of Mr. H. - 
No sculptur'd marble Epitaph on Eergusson - 
Now bank and brae are cloth'd in green 
Now Kobin lies in his last lair Elegy on the 

death of Robert Ruisstaux 
Now nature hangs her mantle green Lament of 

Mary queen of Scots - - 

Now westlin winds - - - - 

Now rosy May comes in with flowers 
Now in her green mantle - - - 

Now spring has clad the grove in green 
O a' ye pious godly flocks The Twa Herds 
O bonie was yon rosy brier . - . 

O cam ye here Battle of Sheriff-Muir 
O Death hadst thou Epigram 
O Death thou tyrant Elegy on Cafit. Henderson 
O Goudie terror of the whigs To John Goudlc 



CONTENTS. ix 

U had the malt thy strength of mmd To Mr. S. - 238 

O how can I be blythe and glad - - 256 

O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten - 273 

O leave novels ye Slauchline Belles - - 332 

O leeze me on my spmnin-wheel - - 250 

O lassie; art thou sleeping yet - - 544 

O luve will venture in - - " ^^^ 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide - - ^^^ 

O my luve 's like a red, red rose - - 252 

O meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty - S18 

O May, thy morn was ne*er so sweet - - 223 

O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour - - 270 

O Mary at thy window be - - • ^^^ 

O once I lov'd a bonny lass - - - 330 

O Poortith, cauld an restless love - - ^l*^ 

O rough, rude, ready witted R. To J. Rankin - 132 

O raging fortune's withering blast - - 330 

O saw ye bonie Leslie - - - 326 

O stay sweet warbling woodlark, stay - - 315 

O thou who in the heav'ns Boiij JViliie's firai/r 368 

O thou who kindly Grace de/bre meat - 147 

t) thou in whom we live Grace after Meat - 148 

O thou dread pow'r Left at a friends house • 58 

O thou great Being A Prayer - - 66 

O thou pale Orb The Lament - - - 54 

O thou the first and greatest The 90ih psabn - 10 

O thou unknown A jirayer - - - 56 

O thou ! whatever title Address to the Deil -■ 107 

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day - - - S35 

O this is no my ain lassie „ - . 34.S 

O tell na me o' wind and rain - - 345 

O wat ye wha's in yon town «• - - 25 1 

O were I on Parnassus hill - - - 381 

O wha is she that loes me - " - 348 

O Willie brew'd a peck o* maut - - 323 

O were my love yon lilac fair - - • 233 

O why the deuce should I repine - - 332 

O whistle and I '11 come to you my lad - 299 

O yc wha are sae gude To. the Unco Guid - 33 

O ye whose cheek the tear On his Father - 67 

Oh ! had each Scot On Miss Scott - ^ 180 



CONTENTb. 



Oh wert thou in the cauld bldst 

Oh, open the door some pity to shew - 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 

Old winier with his frosty be^rd Ivifiromfitu - 

Once fondly lov'd To an old Siveet heart 

On Cessnock bunks there lives a lass 

On a bank of flowers, in a summer's day 

OppressM with grief Desfiondency 

Orthodox, orthodox The Kirk's Jlarm 

Out over the Forth I look to the north 

Powers celestial whose protection 

Raving winds around her blowing 

Revered defender To IV.. Ty tier 

Right sir ! your text The Calf 

Sad thy tale On the death of J. APL. 

Sad bird of niglit To the owl 

Sae fitixen were her ringlets - - - 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure 

Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled 

Sensibility how charming 

She 's fair and fause - - - 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot 

Sing on sweet thrush The Author'* s birth-day - 

Sir, as your mandate The Inventory 

Sir o'er a gill I got your card To Mr. M'-Adam 

Slow spreads the gloom - . - 

Sleep'st thcu or wak'st thou fairest creature 

Some books are lies Death and Dr, Hornbook 

Some sing of sweet Mally - - - 

Stop passenger Epitaph 

Streams that glide in orient plains 

Sweet flowr'et On the birth of a posthumous child 

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie burn 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen 

The day returns . - - - 

The devil got notice Epigram on E. Grose 

The friend whom wild 7'o one he had offended 

The gloomy night is gathering fast ' 

The heather was blooming 

The lamp of day On the death cf Sir J. H. B, - 

The lazy mist - - . . 

The lovely lass o' Inverness 



344. 
301 
338 
227 
239 
341 
351 

31 
393 
256^ 
259 
312 
233 
384 
181 
239 
269 
242 
327 
332 
278 
328 
238 
223 
231 
253 
300 

84 
285 
157 
295 
174 
313 
282 
312 
147 
237 
280 
356 
218 



CONTENTS. xi 

The man in life The \st Psalm - » 59 

The poor man weeps OnG.H. - - 230 

The small birds rejoice -. - - 339 

The smilint^ sprin.^ comes in rejoicing - 308 

The si'iiple bard The Brigs of Ayr - - 24 

The sun had closed The -uisioji - - 35 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea - 311 

The wind blew Lament for the earl of Glencairn 1 63 

The wintry west Winter a dirge - - 89 

Thee Caledonia thy wild heaths among - 219 

Their groves of sweet myrtle - - 270 

There 's auld Rob Morris - - - 274 

There's a youth in this city - - 357 

There 's nought but care on ev'ry ban' - 342 

There was a lass and she was fair - - 288 

There were three kings John Barleycorn - 225 

There was a lad was born in Kyle - - 355 

There was once a day CUedojiia - - 234 

There 's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes - 322 

Thickest night o'erhang my dwelling - 310 

Thine be the volumes To a young lady - 232 

This day time winds J^'ew Yearns day - 229 

This wot all ye Orz dining with Lord Dacr - 1 50 

Tho' cruel fate should bid us part - - 329- 

Thou of an independent mind To Indeliendence 23$ 

Thou whom chance On Friars Carse Hermitage 152^ 

Thou who thy honor To Sir J. Whiteford - 165 

Thou lingering star with lessening ray - |^5 

Thou hast left me ever Jamie - - 328 

» Thou whom chance might hither lead - 182 

Thou's welcome wean To an illegitimate child - 389 

To thee lov'd Nith, thy gbdsome plains - 321 

To Crochallan came On TV, S 236 

True hearted was he - - - 293 

Turn again thou fair Eliza - - - 275 

'Twas in that place The twa Dogs - - U 

'Twaseven — the dewy fields were green - 294 

'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin - 268 

Upon a simmer Sunday m.orn The M^iy Fair - 77 

Upon that night Halloween ~ 116 

Wae is niy heart, and the tear's in ... ,. 275 

, ''•^Vee modest crimson To a mounta'^^i^,: . 9 



xii CONTENTS. 

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, To a Mouse - 22 

What dost thou in that mansion fair To Lord G. 243 

What ails ye now To a Tailor - - 378 

What can a young lassie - - - 322 

When biting Boreas A Winter Mg he - 125 

When death's dark stream - - 237 

When chapman billies Tarn o"* Shantcr - 69 

When chill November's Man ivas made to mourn 6 

When Guilford good - - 178 

When January winds were blowing cold - 302 

When o*er the hill the eastern star - - 262 

When wild wars deadly blast was blawn - 263 

When lyart leaves Jolly Beggars - - 359 

When rosy May comes in wi* flowers - 305 

While briers an* woodbines To J. Lafiraik - 134 

While new ca'd kye To J. Lafiraik - - 138 

While virgin spring To the shade of Thomson 165 

While winds frae off To Da-vie ' - - 48 

While at the stook To the rev. J. M^Math - 371 

While larks with little wing - - - 304 

Whoe'er thou art On luee Johnny - - 220 

Why am I loth Stanzas on death - - 57 

Why yc tenants On scaring Water -fowl - 173 

Where are the joys I have met in the morning 266 

Where braving angry winter's storms - 324 

Wha is that at my Bow'r door - - 346 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here Ejiigram - ^7S 

With awe struck thought and pitying tears - 224 

Willie Wastle dwelt on Tweed - - 266 

Wilt thou be my dearie - - 249 

Wow but your letter To Br. Blacklock - 240 

Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon - - 274 

Ye Irish lords Theauthor'*s earnest cry andjiray*r 93 

Ye men of wit and wealth M a tavern Dunfries 392 

Ye banks and braes and streams around - 287 

Ye gallants bright I rede ye right - - 305 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine - - 320 

Young Jockie was the blythest lad - - 258 

Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass ' > 260 



THE 



LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS, 



AS WRITTEN BY HIMSELF, 



AND CONTINUED OR COMMENTED ON BY OTHERS. 



TO Dr. MOORE. 

Mauchline, 2d August-, 1787. 



SIR. 



" For some months past I have been rambling 
over the country, but I am now confined with some 
lingering complaints, originating as I take it, in the 
stomach. To divert my spirits a little in this mise- 
rable fog of ennuij I have taken a whim to give you 
a history of myself. My name has made some little 
noise in this country ; you have done me the honour 
to interest yourself very warmly in my behalf;^ and 
1 think a faithful account of what character of -a man 
I am, and how I came by that character, may per- 
luxps amuse you in an idle moment, I will give you 
an honest narrative, though I know it will be often 
at my own expense ; for I assure you. Sir, I have, 
like Solomon, whose character, excepting in the tri- 
fling affair of ivisdoni^ \ sometimes think 1 resemble, 
I have, I say, like him turned my eyes to beholc madness 
and folly -i and like him too, frequently shaken hands with 

B 



5i'i\r THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

their intoxicating friendship. * * * After you have 
perused these pages, should you think them trifling and 
impertinent, I only be^ leave to tell you, that the poor 
author wrote them under some twitching qualms of con- 
science, arising from a suspicion that he was doing what 
he ought not to do ; a predicament he has more than 
once been in before. 

" I have not the most distant pretensions to assume 
that character which the pye-coated guardians of escut- 
cheons call, a Gentleman. When at Edinburgh last 
winter, I got acquainted in the herald's office, and look- 
ing through that granary of honours, I there found al- 
most every name of the kingdom ; but for me, 

" My ancient but ig'noble blood 
*' Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood. 

Gules, Purpure, Argent, Sec. quite disowned me. 

" My father was of the north of Scotland, the son of a 
farmer, and was thrown by early misfortunes on the 
world at large ; where, after many years wanderings and 
sojournings, he picked up a pretty large quantity of ob- 
servation and experience, to which I am indebted for 

most of my little pretensions to wisdom I have met 

with few who understood men^ their manners^ and their 
r[vai/f,-f equal to him ; but stubborn, luigainly integrity, 
and headlong ungovernable irrascibility,are disqualifing 
circumstances ; consequently I was born a very poor 
man's son. For the first six or seven years of my life, 
my father was gardener to a worthy gentleman of small 
estate in the neighbourhood of Ayr. Had he continued 
in that station, I must have marched oft' to be one of the 
little undei'lings about a farm-house ; but it was his dear- 
est wish and prayer to have it in his power to keep his 
children under his own eye, till they could discern be- 
tween good and evil : so with the assistance of his gene- 
rous master, my father ventured on a small farm on his 
estate. At those years I was by no means a favourite 
with any body. I was a good deal noted for a retentive 
memory, a stubborn sturdy something in my disposition, 

and an enthusiastic ideot piety I say ideot piety, be- 

s:.ause I was then but a ^hild. Though it cost the school 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xv 

master some thrashings, I made an excellent English 
scholar ; and by the time I was ten or eleven years of 
age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs and particles. 
In my infant and boyish days too, I owed much to an 
old woman who resided in the family, remarkable foi» 
her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She liad, I 
suppose, the largest collection in the country of tales 
and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, 
witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elfcandles, dead- 
lights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, inchanted 
towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This cultivated the 
latent seeds of poetry ; but had so strong an effect on my 
imagination, that to this hour in my nocturnal rambles, 
I sometimes keep a sharp look out in suspicious places ; 
and though nobody can be more sceptical than I am in 
such matters, yet it often takes an effort of philosophy 
to shake off these idle terrors. The earliest composition 
that I recollect taking pleasure in, was The Vision of 
Mirza^ and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, Hoiu are thy 
servanta blest, O Lord! I particularly remember ony 
half-stanza which was music to my boyish ear 

'* For tboug-h on dreadful whirb we hung-, 
" High on the broken wave..., 

I met with these pieces in Mason's Etiglish Collection^ 
one of my school-books. The two first books I ever 
read in private, and which gave me more pleasure than 
any two books I ever read since, were. The life of Han- 
7iibal, and The Historij of Sir IVilliam Wallace. Hanni- 
bal gave my young ideas such a turn, that I used to 
strut in raptures up and down after the recruiting 
drum and bag-pipe, and wish myself tall enough to be a 
soldier, while the story of Wallace poured a Scottish pre- 
judice into my veins, which will boil along there till the 
flood-gates of life shut in eternal rest. 

" Polemical divinity about this time was putting the 
country half mad, and I, ambitious of shining in conver- 
sation parties on Sundays between sermons, at funerals, 
Sec. used a few years afterwards to puzzle Calvinism 
with so much heat and indiscretion, that I raised a hue 



xvi THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

and cry of heresy against me, which has not ceased to 
this hotrr. 

" My vicinity to Ayr \vas of some advantage to me. 
My social disposition, when not checked by some 'nodi- 
tication of spited pride, was like our catechism definition 
of infinitude, ivithout bounds or limits. I formed several 
connections with other younkers who possessed superior 
advantages ; the ijoungling actors who were busy in the 
rehearsal of paits in which they were shortly to appear 
on the stage of life, where alas 1 I was destined to drudge 
behind the scenes. It is not commonly at this gjreen age, 
that our young gentry have a just sense of the imvrense 
distance between them and their ragged play-fellows. It 
takes a few dashes into the world, to give the young 
great man that proper, decent, unnoticing disregard for 
the poor, insignificant stupid devils, the mechanics and 
peasantry around him, who were perhaps born in the 
same village. My young superiors never insulted the 
clouterly appearance of my plough-boy carcase, the two 
extremes of which were often exposed to all the incle- 
mencies of all the seasons. They would give me stray 
volumes of books ; among them, even then, I could pick 
up some observations, and one, whose heart I am sure 
not even the Munny Begum scenes have tainted, helped 
me to a little French. Parting with these my young 
friends and bene^ictors, as they occasionally went off for 
the East or West Indies, was often to me a sore afflic- 
tion, but I was soon called to more serious evils. My 
father's generous master died ; the farm proved a ruin- 
ous bargain ; and to clench the misfortune, we fell into 
the hands of a factor, who sat for the picture I have 
drawn of one in my Tale of Twa Dogs. My father was 
advanced in life when he married ; I was the eldest of 
seven children, and he, worn out by early hardships was 
unfit for labour. My father's spirit was soon irritated, 
but not easily broken. There was a freedom in his 
lease in two years more, and to weather these two years 
we retrenched our expenses. We lived very poorly; 
I was a dexterous ploughman for my age ; and the next 
eldest to me was a brother (Gilbert) who could drive the 
plough very well, and help me to thrash the corn. A 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xvii 

novel writer might perhaps have viewed these scenes 
-with some satisfaction, but so did not I ; my indignation 

yet boils at the recollection of the s 1 factor*s insolent 

threatening letters, which used to set us all in tears. 
'••""This kind of life. ..the cheerless gloom of a hermit, 
with the unceasing moil of a galley-slave, brought me 
to my sixteenth year; a little before which period I first 
committed the sin of Rhyme. You know our country 
custom of coupling a man and woman together as part- 
ners in the labours of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn, my 
partner was a bewitching creature, a year younger than 
myself. My scarcity of English denies me the power of 
doing her justice in that language, but you know the 
Scottish idiom ; she was a bonnie sweet sofisie lass. In 
short, she altogether unwittingly to herself, initiated me 
in that delicious passion, wliich in spite of acid disap- 
pointment, gin-horse prudence, and book-worm philo- 
sophy, I hold to be the first of human joys, our dearest 
blessing here below ! How she caught the contagion I 
cannot tell ; you medical people talk much of infection 
from breathing the same air, the touch, &c. but I never 
expressly said I lov'd her Indeed I did not know my- 
self why I liked so much to loiter behind with her, when 
returning in the evening from our labours ; jvhy the 
tones of her voice made my heart-strings thrill like an 
iEolian harp ; and particularly why my pulse beat suchafu- 
riousratan when I looked and fingered over her little hand 
to pick out the cruel nettle-stings and thistles. Among 
her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung sweetly : and 
it was her favourite reel to which I attempted giving an 
embodied vehicle in rhyme. I nas not so presumptuous 
as to imagine that I could make verses like printed ones, 
composed by men who had Greek and Latin; but my girl 
sung a song which was said to be composed by a small 
country laird's son, on one of his father's maids, with whom 
he was in love ; and I saw no reason why I might not rhyme 
as well as he ; for excepting that he could smear sheep, and 
cast peats, his father living in the Moorlands, he had no 
more scholar craft than myself. 

" Thus with me began love and poetry : which at times 
Ihave been my only, and till within the last twelve month.9> 
have been my highest enjoyment. My father su*uggled «n 



xviii THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

till he reached the freedom in his lease, when he entered on 
a larger farm, about ten miles farther in the country. The 
nature of the bargain he made, was such as to throw a little 
ready money into his hands at the commencement of his 
lease, otherwise the affair would have been impracticable. 
For four years we lived comfortably here, but a difference 
commencing between him and his landlord as to terms, af- 
ter three years tossing and whirling in the vortex of litiga- 
tion, my father was just saved from the horrors of a gaol, 
by a consumption, which, after two years promises, kindly 
stepped in, and carried him away, to where the wicked cease 
from troubling^ and ivhere the iveary art at rest ! 

" It is during the time that we lived on this farm, that 
my little story is most eventful. I was, at the beginning of 
this period, perhaps, the most ungainly awkward boy in the 
parish. ...no solitaire \f as less acquainted with the ways of 
the world. What I knew of ancient story was gathered 
from Sal mo7i's -and Gwi'//77e'.s' geographical grammars ; arid 
the ideas I had formed of modern manners, of literature 
and criticism, I got from the S/icctafor. These, with Po/ie''s 
JVorks, some plays of Shakesf2care, Tull and Dickson on 
Agriculture^ the Pantheon^ Lockc*s Essay on the Human 
Understandings Stackhouse'^s History of the Bible^ Justice's 
British Gardener''s Directory, Bayle^s Lectures^ Mian 
Ramsay^s M'orks, Taylor^s Scri/it7ire Doctrine of Original 
Sin^ A Select Collection of English Songs, and Harvey's 
Meditations, had formed the whole of my reading. The 
collection of Songs was my vade mecum. I pored over 
them driving my cart, or walking to labour, song iiy song, 
verse by verse ; carefully noting the true, tender or sub- 
lime, from affectation and fustian. I am convinced I owe 
:o this practice, much of my critic-craft such as it is. 
" In my seventeenth year, to give my manners a brush, 

I went to a countiy dancing-school My father had an 

unaccountable antipathy against these meetings, and my 
goiHg was what to this moment I repent, in opposition to 
his wishes. My father, as I said before, v/as subject ta 
strong passions; from that instance of disobedierice ia 
me, he took a sort of dislike to me, which I believe was 
one cause of the dissipation which marked niy succeed- 
ing years. I say dissipation, comparatively with the 
"Strictness and sobriety, and regularity of a Presbyterian 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xix 

country life : for though the will-o-wisp meteors of 
thoughtless whim were almost the sole lights of my 
path, yet early ingrained piety and virtue, kept me for 
several years afterwards within the line of innocence. 
The great misfortune of my life was to want an aim. I 
had felt early some stirrings of ambition, but they were 
the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops round the walls 
of his cave. I saw my father's situation entailed on me 
perpetual labour. The only two openings by which I 
could enter the temple of fortune, was the gate of nig- 
gardly economy, or the path of little chicaning bargain- 
making. The first is so contracted an aperture I never 

could squeeze myself into it the last I always hated,... 

there was contamination in the very entrance 1 Thus 
abandened of aim or view in life, with a strong appetite 
for sociability, as well from native hilarity, as from a 
pride of observation and remark ; a constitutional melan- 
choly or hypochondriasm that made me fly solitude ; add 
to these incentives to social life, my reputation for book- 
ish knowledge, a certain wild logical talent, and a strength 
of thought, something Vike the rudiments of good-sense, 
and it will not seem surprising that I was generally a 
welcome guest where I visited, or any great wonder that 
always where two or three met together, there was I 
an.ong them. But far Ijeyond all other impulses of my 
heart, was un Jienchunt a Vadorable moitiee du genre hu- 
mame. My heart was completely tinder, and was eter- 
nally lighted up by some goddess or other ; and as in 
every other warfare in this world, my fortune was vari- 
ous ; sometimes I was received with favour, and some* 
times I was mortified with a repulse. At the plough, 
scythe, or retip-hook, I feared no competitor, and thus I 
sei absolute want at defiance; and as I never cared far- 
ther for my labours than while I was in actual exercise, 
I spent the evenings in the way after my own heart. A 
country lad seldom carries on a love adventure without 
an assistant confidant. I possessed a curiosity, zeal, and 
intrepid dexterity, that recommended me as a proper se- 
cond on these occasions, and I dare say, I felt as much 
pleasure in being in the secret of half the loves of the pa- 
rish ol Tarbolton, as ever did statesman in knowiusj t!ie 
intrigues of half the courts of Europe. ...The very goose'- 



XX THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

feather in my hand, seems to know instinctively the well- 
worn path of my imagination, the favourite theme of my 
song ; and is with difficulty restrained from giving you a 
couple of paragraphs on the love-adventures of my com- 
peers, the humble inmates of the farm-house, and cot- 
tage: but the grave sons of science, ambition, or ava- 
rice, baptize these things by the name of Follies. To 
the sons and daughters of labour and poverty they are 
matters of the most serious nature ; to them the ardent 
hope, the stolen interview, the tender farewell are the 
greatest and most delicious parts of their enjoyments. 

" Anether circumstance in my life which made some 
alteration in my mhid and manners, was, that I spent my 
nineteenth summer on a smuggling coast, a good dis- 
tance from home, at a noted school, to learn mensura- 
tion, surveying, dialling, &c. in which I made a pretty 
good progress. But I made a greater progress in the 
knowledge of mankind. The contraband trade was at 
that time very successful, and it sometimes happened to 
me to fall in with those who carried it on. Scenes 
of swaggering riot and roaring dissipation were till this 
time new to me, but I was no enemy to social life. Here, 
though I learnt to fill my glass, and to mix without fear in 
a drunken squabble, yet I went on with a high hand with 
my geometry; till the sun entered Virgo, a month which 
is always a carnival in my bosom, when a charming 7?/- 
iette who lived next door to the school, overset my trigo- 
nometry, and set me off at a tangent from the sphere of 
my studies. I however struggled on with my sines and 
co-sines for a few days more ; but stepping into the gar- 
den one charming noon to take the sun's altitude, there 
I met my angel 

" Like Proserpine gathering flowers, 
" Herself a fairer flower. — 

<' It was in vain to think of doing any more good at 
school. The remaining week I staid, I did nothing but 
cruze the faculties of my soul about her, or steal out to 
meet her ; and the two last nights of my stay in the coun- 
try, liad sleep been « mortal sin, the image of this modest 
and innocent girl had kept me guiltless. 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xxi 

^' I returned home very considerably improved. My 
reading: was enlarged with the very important addition of 
Thomson's and Shenstone's Works ; I iTad seen human 
nature in a new phasis : and I engaged several of my 
school-fellows to keep up a literary correspondence with 
me. This improved me in composition. I had i.et with 
a collection of letters by the wits of Queen Anne's reign, 
and I pored over them most devoutly. I kept copies 
of any of my own letters that pleased me, and .i compari- 
son between them and the composition of m^vt of my 
correspondents, flattered my vanity. I carried tiiis whim 
so far, that though I had not three farthings worth of bu- 
siness in the world, yet almost every post brought me as 
many letters as if I had been a broad plodding son of day- 
book and ledger. 

" My life flowed on much in the same course till my 
twenty-third year. Vive l^amour, ei vive la bagatelle^ were 
my sole principles of action. The addition of two more 
authors to my library gave me great pleasure ; Sterne and 
M'-Kenzic... Tristram Shandy and the Man of Feeling were 
my bosom favourites.. ..Poesy v/as still a darling walk for 
my mind, but it was only indulged in accordi)>g to the 
humour of the hour. I had usually half a dozen or more 
pieces on hand ; I took up one or other as it suited 
the momentary tone of the mind, and dismissed the work 
as it bordered on fatigue. My passions, when once light- 
ed up, raged like so many devils, till they got vent in 
rhyme ; and then the conning over my verses, like a spell, 
soothed all into quiet ! None of the rhymes of those days 
are in print, except, JVinter, a Dirgc^ the eldest of my 
printed pieces, The Death of poor Mailliv^John Barleycorn^ 
and songs first, second, and third. Song second was the 
ebullition of that passion which ended the forementioned 
school-business. 

" My twenty-third year was to me an important sera. 
Partly through whim, and partly that I wished to set 
about doing something in life, I joined a flax-dresser in 

a neighbouring town, (Irvin) to learn his trade This 

was an unlucky affair. My * * * 

and to finish the whole, as we were giving a welcoming- 
carousal to the new year, the shop took fire and burnt 



xJrii THE LtFE OF BURNS. 

to ashes, and I was left like a true poet, not worth a six- 
pence. 

" I was obliged to give up this scheme ; the clouds 
of misfortune were gathering thick round my father's 
head ; and what was worst of all, he was visibly far gone 
in a consumption : and to crown my distresses, a belle 
Jille^ whom I adored, and who had pledged her soul to 
meet me in the field of matrimony, jilted me, with pecu- 
liar circumstances of mortification. The finishing evil 
that brouQ:ht up the rear of this infernal file, was my con- 
stitutional melancholy being increased to such a degree, 
that for three months, I was in a state of mind scarcely 
to be envied by the hopeless wretches who have t^ot their 
mittimus dejiart from me^ ye cursed, 

" From this adventure I learned something of a toviii 
life ; but the principal thing which gave my mind a turn, 
was a friendship I formed with a young fellow, a very 
noble character, but a hapless son of misfortune. He 
was the son of a simple mechanic ; but a great man in 
the neighbourhood taking him under his patronage, gave 
him a genteel education, with a view of bettering his si- 
tuation in life. The patron dying just as he was ready to 
launch out into the world, the poor fellow in despair went 
to sea; where after a variety of jj^ood and ill fortune, 
a little before I was acquainted with him, he had been 
set ashore by an American privateer, on the wild 
coast of Connaught, stripped of every thing. I cannot 
quit this poor fellow's story without adding, that he is at 
this time master of a large West-Indiaman belonging to 
the Thames. 

" His mind v/as fraught with independence, magnani- 
mity, and every manly virtue. I loved and admired him 
to a degree of enthusiasm, and of course strove to imi- 
tate him. In some measure I succeeded : I had pride 
before, but he taught it to flow in proper channels. Hi» 
knowledge of the world was vastly superior to mine, and 
I was all attention to learn. He was the only man I ever 
saw, who was a greater fool than myself, where woman 
was the presiding star; but he spoke of illicit love with 
the levity of a sailor, which hitherto I had regarded with 
hprror. Here his friendship did me a mischief, and the 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xxiii 

consequence was, that soon after I resumed the plough, I 
wrote the Poet's Welcome.* My readmg only increased 
while in this town by two stray volumes of Pamela^ and 
one of Ferdinand Count Fathom^ which gave me some 
idea of novels. Rhyme, except some religious pieces that 
are in print, I had given up ; but meeting with Ferguson's 
Scottish Poeinsf I strung a-new my wildly-sounding lyre 
with emulating vigour. When my father died, his all 
went among the hell-hounds that growl in the kennel of 
justice ; but we made a shift to collect a little money 
in the family amongst us, with which, to keep us together, 
my brother and I took a neighbouring farm. My brother 
wanted my hair-brained imagination, as well as my social 
and amorous madness ; but in good sense, and every so- 
ber qualification, he was far my superior. 

" I entered on this farm with a full resolution, com<?,5>-o 
to, Ii'oillbe wise 1 1 read farming books, I calculated crops ; 
I attended markets; and in short, in spite of the devil, 
and the world, and thejlesh, I believe I should have been 
a wise man ; but the first year, from unfortunately buying 
bad seed, the second from a late harvest, we lost half our 
crops. This overset all my wisdom, and I returned, like 
the dog to his vomit, and the sow that was washed, to her 
wallowing in the mire. 

" I now began to be known in the neighbourhood as a 
maker of rhymes. The first of my poetic offspring that 
saw the light, was a burlesque lamentation on a quarrel 
between two reverend Calvinists, both of them dramatis 
fiersonoe in my Holy Fair. I had a notion myself that the 
piece had some merit; but to prevent the worst, I gave 
a copy of it to a friend who was very fond of such things, 
and told him that I couid not guess who was the authorof it, 
but that I thought it pretty clever. With a certain des- 
cription of the clergy, as well as laity, it met with a roar 
of applause. Holy J r///zVs Proz/cr next made its appear- 
ance, and alarmed the kirk-session so much, that they 
held several meetings, to look over their spiritual artille- 
ry, if haply any of it might be pointed against profane 
rhymers. Unluckily for me, my wanderings led me on 
^mother side, within point blank shot of their heaviest 

* Jtob tJtfi lifanner's Welcome to his bastard child. 



xxiv THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

metal. This is the unfortunate story that gave rise to my 
printed poem, the Lament.. 'Y\i\% was a most melancholy af- 
fair, which I cannot yet bear to reflect on, and had very 
nearly given me one or two of the principal qualifications 
for a place among those who have lost the chart, and mis- 
taken the reckoning of Rationality. I gave up my part 
of the farm to my brother; in truth it was onlynominall) 
mine ; and made what little preparation was in my power 
for Jamaica. But, before leaving my native country for 
ever, I resolved to publish my poems. I weighed my 
productions as impartially as was in my power ; I thought 
they had merit, and it was a delicious idea that I should 
be called a clever fellow, even though it should never 
reach my ears.. .a poor negro driver.. .or perhaps a victim 
to that inhospitable clime, and gone to the world of spi- 
rits ! I can truly say, that pauvre inconnu as I then was, I 
had pretty nearly as high an idea of myself and of my works, 
as I have at this moment, when the public has decided in 
their favour. It ever was my opinion, that the mistakes 
and blunders both in a rational and religious point of view, 
of which we see thousands daily guilty, are owing to their 

ignorance of themselves To know myself had been 

all along my constant study. I weighed myself alone ; 
Irbalanccd myself with others ; I watched every means of 
information, to see how much ground I occupied as a 
man and as a poet: I studied assiduously nature's design 
in my formation ; where the lights and shades in my cha- 
racter were intended. I was pretty confident my poems 
would meet with some applause ; but at the worst, the 
roar of the Atlantic would deafen the voice of censure, 
and the novelty of West-Indian scenes make me forget 
neglect. I threw off six hundred copies, of which I had 
got subscriptions for about three hundred and fifty. My 
vanity was highly gratified by the reception I met with 
from the public ; and besides, I pocketed, all expenses 
deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very 
seasonably, as I was thinking of indenting myself, for want 
of money lo procure my passage. As soon as I was mas- 
ter of nine guineas, the price of wafting me to the torrid 
zone, I took a steerage passage in the fii'st ship that was 
to sail from the Clyde, for, 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xxv 



" Hungry ruin had me in the wind, 

I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, 
under all the terrors of a jail ; as some ill-advised people 
had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at my heels. 
I had taken the last farewell of my few friends ; my chest 
was on the road to Greenock, I had composed the last 
song I should ever m.easure in Caledonia, The gloomy 
night is gathering fast y when a letter from Dr. Blacklock 
to a friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes, by open- 
ing new prospects to my poetic ambition. The doctor 
belonged to a set of critics, for whose applause I had not 
dared to hope. His opflnion, tl^at I would meet with en- 
couragement in Edinburgh for a second edition, fii^dme 
so much, that away I posted for that city, without a sin- 
gle acquaintance, or a single letter of introduction. The 
baneful star that had so long shed its blasting influence 
in my zenith, for once made a revolution to the Nadir ; 
and a kind providence placed me under the patronage of 
one of the noblest of men, the Earl of Glencairn. Oublie 
moiy grand Vieu, d jamais je V oublie ! 

" I need relate no farther. .At Edinburgh I was in a 
new M^orld ; I mingled among many classes of men, but 
all of them new to me, and I v/as all attention to catchxhQ 
<:haracters and the 7na7niers living as they rise. Whether 
I have profited time will shew. 



'^ 



" My most ixispectfiri compliments to Miss W. Her 
very elegant and friendly letter I cannot answer at pre- 
sent, as my presence is requisite in Edinburgh, and I set 
out to-morrow.* 

" R. BURNS." 

* There are various ^copies of this letter, in the author's hand- 
writing- ; and one ol' these, evidently corrected, is in the book in 
which lie had copied several of his letters. This has bec!i used 
for the prcsi^ with some omissions, and one 3^igbt alteration sug"- 
gestcd by Gilbert 15 urns. 



xxvi THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

At the period of our poet's death, his brother, Gilbert 
Burns, was ignorant that he had himself written the fore- 
going narrative of his life while in Ayrshire ; and having 
been applied to by Mrs. Dunlop for some memoirs of his 
brother, he complied with her request in a letter, from 
which the following narrative i-s chiefly extracted. When 
Gilbert Burns afterwards saw the letter of our poet to Dr. 
Moore, he made some annotations upon it, which shall be 
noticed as we proceed. 

Robert Burns was bora on the 29th day of January, 
1759, in a small house about two miles from the town of 
Ayr, and within a few hundred yards of Alloway Church, 
which his poem of Tarn o^Shanfcr has rendered immor- 
tal*. The name which the poet and his brother moder- 
nized into Burns, was ©riginally Burnes or Burness. 
Their father, William Burnes, was the son of a farmer 
in Kincardineshyre, and had received the education com- 
mon in Scotland to perso'hs in his condition of life ; he 
could read and write, and had some knowledge of arith- 
metic. Ilis family having fallen into reduced circum- 
stances, he was compelled to leave his home in his nine- 
teenth year, and turn his steps towards the south, in 
quest of a livelihood. The same necessity attended his 
elder brother Robert. " i have ofter heard my father," 
says Gilbert Burns, in his letter to iVi.s. DunlCp, " des- 
cribe the anguish of mind he felt when they parted on 
the top of a hill, on the confines of their native place, 
each going off his several way in search of new ad- 
ventures, and scarcely knowing whither he went. My 
father undertook to act as a gardeeer, and shaped his 
course to Edinburgh, where he wrought hard when he 
could get work, passing through a variety of difficulties* 
Still however he endeavoured to spare somethinglbr the 
support of his aged parent, and I recollect hearing him 
mention his having sent a bank-note for this purpose, 
when money of that kind was so scarce in Kincardine-- 
shire, that they scarcely knew how to employ it when itar- 

• 

* Tills house is on the rig-ht hand sidS*of the road from Ayr to 
May -bolt, which forms apart of the road from Glasgow to Port- 
Patrick. When tiie poet's father afterwards removed to Tarbol- 
ton parish, he soid^his iease-iiold riglit in this hoii.<^ and a few 
acrts of land adjoining, to the corporation of shoemakers in Ayr. 
It is now a country ale-house. 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xxvii 

rfived.'* From Edinburgh William Burnes passed west- 
Avard into the county of Ayi', where he engaged himself 
as a gardener to the laird of Fairly, with whom he lived 
two years, then changing his service for that of Craw- 
ford of Doonside. At length being desirous of settling 
in life, he took a perpetual lease of seven acres of land 
from Dr. CamplTbll, physician iii Ayr, with the view of 
commencing; nursery man and public gardener; and hav- 
ing built a house upon it with his own hands, married in 
13eccmber, 1757, Agnes, Brown, the mother of our poet, 
who still survives. The first fruit of this marriage was 
Robert, the subject of these memoirs, born on the 29th 
of January, 1759, as has already been mentioned. Before 
William Buraes had made much progress in preparing 
his nursery, he was withdrawn from that undertaking by 
Mr. Ferguson, who purchased the estate of Doonholm, 
in the immediate neighbourhood, and engaged him as his 
gardener and overseer ; and this was his situation when our 
poet w^s born. Though in the service of Mr. Ferguson, he 
lived in his own house, his wife managing her family and 
her liKle dairy, which consisted sometimes of two, some- 
times of three milch cows ; and this state of unambitious 
content continued till the year 1766.. His son Robert was 
sent by him in his sixth year to a school at AUoway Miln, 
about a mile distant, taught by a person of the name of 
Campbell ; but this teacher being in a few months appointed 
master of the workhouse at Ayr, William Burnes, in con- 
juTictidn with some other heads of families, engaged John. 
'Murdoch in his stead. The education of our poet, and 
his brother Gilbert was in common, and of their profici- 
ency under Mr. Murdoch, we have the-following account: 
" With him we learnt to read English tolerably well,* 
and to write a little. He taught us too the Englisli 
grammar. I was too young. to profit much by his lessons 
in grammar, but Robert made some proficiency in it, a 
circumstance of considerable weight in the unfolding of his 
genius and character ; as he soon became remarkable for 
thcfluency and correctness of his expression, and read 
the few books that came in his way with much pleasure 
and improveme*nt; for even then he was a reader when 
- % 
* Letter from Gilbert Burirslo Mrs, Dunlop. 



xxviii THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

he could get a book. Murdoch, whose library at that time^ 
had no great variety in it, lent him Tlie Life of Haniiibal^ 
which was the first book he read, (the school-books ex- 
cepted) and almost the only one he had an opportunity of 
reading while he was at school ; for The Life of Wallace^ 
which he classes with it in one of his letters to you, he 
did not see for some years afterwards, vriien he borrowed 
it from the blacksmith who shod our horses.'* 

It appears that William Burnes approved himself 
greatly in the service of Mr. Ferguson, by his intelli- 
gence, industry, and integrity. In consequence of this, 
with a view of promoting his interest, Mr. Ferguson 
leased him a farm, of which we have the following ac- 
count. .^ 

" The farm was upwards of seventy acres,* (between 
eighty aitd ninety English statute measure) the rent of 
which was to be forty pounds annually for the first six years, 
and afterwards forty-five pounds. My father eTideavour- 
ed to sell his leasehold property forth75 purpose of stock- 
ing his farm, but at that time was unable, and IVfr. Fer- 
guson lent him a hundred pounds for that purpose, 'He 
re ;>.oved to his new situation at Whitsuntide 1766. It 
was I think not above two years after this that Murdoch, 
our tutor and friend, left this part of the country, and 
there being no school near us, and our little services 
being useful on the farm, my father undertook to teach 
us arithmetic in the winter evenings by candle light, and 
in this way my two elder sisters got ail the education th«y 
received. I remember a circumstance that happened at" 
this time, which, though trifling in itself, is fresh in my 
memory, and may serve to illustrate the early character of 
my brother. Murdoch came to spend a night with us, 
and to take his leave when he was about to go into Car- 
rick. He brought us as a present and memorial of him, 
a small compendium of English Grammar, and the trage- 
dy of Titus Androriicus^ and by way of passing the even- 
ing he began to read the play aloud. We were all atten- 
tion for some time, till presently the whole party \vas 
dissolved in tears. A female in the play (I have but a 
confused remembrance of it) had her hancls chopt off, and 

• The name of this farm is ^louut-Oliphant, in Ayr parish. 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xxU 

liei* tongue cut out, and then was insultingly <lesired to 
call for water to wash her hands. At this, in an agony 
of distress, we with one voice desired he would read no 
more. My father observed, that if we would not hear itj ; 
it would be needless to leave the play with us. Robert 
replied, that if it was left he would burn it. My father 
was going to chide him for his ungrateful return to his 
tutor's kindness; but Murdoch interfered, declaring that 
he liked to see so much sensibility ; and he left The 
School for Lovcy a comedy (translated I think from the 
French) in its place*." 

" Nothing," contiiuies Gilbert Burns, " could be more 
retired than our general manner of living at Loan-house; 
we rarely saw any body but the members of our own fa- 
mily. There were no boys of our own age, or near it 
in the neighbourhood. Indeed the greatest part of the 
land in the vicinity, was at that time possessed by shop- 
kcepers, and people of that stamp, who had retired froni 
business, or who kept their farm in the country at the 
same time that they followed business in town. Ivly 
father was for some time, almost the only companion we 
had. He conversed familiarly on all subjects with us as 
if we had been men, and was at great pains while we ac- 

* It is to be remembered that the poet was only jilne years of 
age, and the relator of this incident under eight, at the time it 
happene<l. Tiie effect was ver'y natural in children of sensibility 
at tlieir age. At a more mature period of the judgment, such ab- 
su'*d representations are calculated rather to produce disg-ust or 
laughter than tears. The scene to which Gilbert Burns alludes, 
opens thus : 



I'itio Andronicxts, Act II. scene 5. 

Elite)- Domemus a?ifi Chiron, ivith Lavinia ravished, her hands ctti 
off, and her tongue cut out. 

Why is this silly play still printed as Shakespeare's, against th(3 
opinion of all the best critics ? The bard of Avoii was guilty of 
many extravagancies, but he always performed what he intended 
to perform. That he ever excited in a British mind, (for the 
French critics must be set aside) disgust or ridicule, wliere he 
meant to have awakened pity or horror, is what will not be impu-- 
ted to tliat master of the passions. 

G 2 



XXX THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

companied him in the labours of the farm, to lead the 
conversation to such subjects as might tend to increase 
our knowledge, or confirm us in virtuous habits. He 
borrowed Salmo7i*s Geograjihical Grammar for us, and en- 
deavoured to make us acquainted with the situation and 
history of the different countries in the world ; while from 
a book society in Ayr, he procured for us the reading of 
DerhawLS Physico and Astro-Theology .^ and Ray^s Wisdom of 
God in the Creation^ to give us some idea of astronomy 
and natural history. Robert read all these books with an 
avidity and industry scarcely to be equalled. My father 
had been a subscriber to Stackhouse^s History of the Biblcy, 
then lately published by James Meuros in Kilmarnock j 
from this Robert collected a competent knowledge of an- 
cient history : for no book was so voluminous as to slack- 
en his industry, or so antiquated as to damp his resear- 
ches. A brother of my mother who had lived with us 
some time, and had learnt some arithmetic by our win- 
ter evening's candle, went into a bookseller's shop in 
Ayr, to purchase The Ready Reckoner .^ or Tradesman's 
Sure Guide^wwiX a book to teach him to write letters. Luc- 
kily, in place of The Comfilete Letter-Writer^ he got by 
mistake a small collection of Letters by the most emi- 
nent writers, with a few sensible directions for attain- 
ing an easy epistolary stile. This book was to Robert of 
the greatest consequence. It inspired him with a strong 
desire to excel in letter-writing, while it furnished him 
with models by some of the first writers in our lan- 
guage. 

" My brother v»?as about thirteen or fourteen, when my 
father, regretting that we wrote so ill, sent us week about 
during a sum.::er quarter, to the parish school of Dal- 
rymple, which, though between two and three miles dis- 
tant, was the nearest to us, that we might have an oppor- 
tunity of remedying this defect. About this time a book- 
ish acquaintance of my lather's procured us a reading of 
two volumes of Richardson's Piincla^ which was the first 
novel we read, and the only part of Richardson's works 
my brother was acquainted with till towards the period of 
his commencing author. Till that time too he remained 
unacquainted v/ith Fielding, with Smollet(two volumes of 
JFerdinand Count Fathom^ and t\f0 volumes oi Fertgrine 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xxxi 

Fickle excepted) with Hume, with Robertson, and almost 
all our authors of eminence of the latter times. I recol- 
lect indeed my father borrowed a volume of English his- 
tory from Mr. Hamilton of Bourtreehill's gardener. It 
treated of the reign of James the first, and his unfortunate 
son Charles, but I do not know who was the author, all, 
that I remember of it is something of Charles'«< conversa- 
tion with his children. About this time Murdoch, our 
former teacher, after having been in different places, in 
the country, and having taught a school some time in 
Dumfries, came to be the established teacher of the En- 
glish language in Ayr, a circumstance of considerable 
consequence to us. The remembrance of my father's 
former friendship, and his attachment to my brother, 
made him do every thing in his power for our improve- 
ment He sent us Pope's Works, and some other poe- 
try, the first that we had an opportunity of reading, ex- 
cepting what is contained in The English Collection^ and 
in the volume of The Edinburgh Magazine for 1772; 
excepting also those excellent new songs that are hawked 
about the country in baskets, or exposed on stalls in the 
streets. 

" The summer after we had been at Dajrymple school, 
•my father sent Robert to Ayr to revise his English gram- 
mar, with his former teacher. He had been there only 
one week, when he was obliged to return, to assist at the 
harvest. When the harvest was over, he went back to 
school, where he remained two weeks ; and this com- 
pletes the account of his school education, excepting one 
summer quarter some time afterwards, that he attended 
with the parish school of Kirkoswalds (where he lived 
with a brother of my mother's) to learn surveying. 

** During the two last weeks that he was with Mur- 
doch, he himself was engaged in learning French, and 
he communicated the instructions he received to my 
brother, who when he returned, brought home with him 
a French dictionary and gramaiar, and the Adventures of 
Telemachus in the original. In a little while, by the as- 
sistance of these books, he had acquired such a know- 
ledge of the language, as to read and understand any 
French avuhor in prose. This was considered as a sort 
of prodigy, and through the medium of Murdoch, procu- 



xxxii THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

red him the acquaintance of several lads in Ayr, wlio 
were at that time gabbling French, and the notice of some 
families, particularly that of Dr. Malcolm, where a know- 
ledge of French was a recommendation. 

" Observing the facility with which he had ac(|uired 
the French language, Mr. Robinson, the established wri- 
ting-master in Ayr, and Mr. Murdoch's particular friend, 
having himself acqtiired a considerable knowledge of the 
Latin language by his own industry, witliout ever having 
learnt it at school, advised Robert to make the same at- 
tempt, promising him every assistance in his power. 
Agreeably to this advice, he purchased The Rudiments of 
the Latin Tongue^ but finding this study dry and uninte- 
resting, it was quickly laid aside. He frequently return- 
ed to his Rudiments on any little chagrin or disappoint- 
ment, particularly in his love affairs : but the Latin sel- 
dom predominated more than a day or two at a time, or 
a week at most. Observing himself the ridicule that 
would attach to this sort of conduct if it were known, he 
made two or three humourous stanzas on the subject, 
which I cannot now recollect, but they all ended, 

" So 1 7/ to my Latin again. 

*' Thus you see, Mr. Murdoch was a prhicipal means 
of my brother's i;i provement. Worthy manl though 
foreign to my present purpose, I cannot take leave of 
him without tracing his future history. He continued for 
some years a respected and useful teacher at Ayr, till 
one evening that he had been overtaken in liquor, he 
happened to speak somewhat disrespectfully of Dr. Dal- 
rymple, the parish minister, who had not paid him that 
attention to which he thought himself entitled. In Ayr 
he might as well have spoken blasphemy. He found it 
proper to give up his appointment. He went to London, 
where he still lives, a private teacher of the French. 
He has been a considerable time married, and keeps a 
shop of stationary wares. 

" The father of Dr. Puterson, now a physician at Ayr, 
was I believe a native of Aberdeenshire, and was one of 
the established teachers in Ayr v/hen my father settled 
in the neighbaurhood. He early recognised my father as^ a 



THE LIFE OF BTJRNS. xxxiii 

fellow-native of the north of Scotland, and a ce»(aii\ degre'e 
of intimacy subsisted between them during Mr. Pater- 
son's life. After his death, bis widow, who is a very- 
genteel woman, and of great worth, delighted in doyig 
what she thought her husband would have wished t6 have 
done, and assiduously kept up her attentions to all his ac- 
quaintance! She kept alive the intimacy witli our family, 
by frequently inviting my father and mother to her house 
on Sundays, when sh^ met them at church. . 

" When she came to know my brother's passion for 
books, she kindly offered us the use of her husband's li* 
brary, and from her we got the Sfiectator^ Pofie^s Trans- 
lation of Homer J and several other books that were of 
use to us. Mount Oliphant, the farm my father posses- 
sed in the parish of Ayr, is almost the very poorest soil I 
know of in a state of cultivation. A stronger proof of 
this I cannot give, than that, notwithstanding the extra- 
ordinary rise in the value of lands in Scotland, it was, af- 
ter a considerable sum laid out in improving it by the 
proprietor, let, a few years ago, five pounds per annutti 
lower than the rent paid for it by my father thirty years 
ago. My father in consequence of this soon came into 
difficulties,*which were increased by the loss of several of 

his cattle by accidents and disease To the buffetings of 

misfortune, we could only oppose hard labour and the most 
rigid economy. We lived very sparingly. For several 
years butcher's meat was a stranger in the house, while 
all the members of the family exerted themselves to the ut- 
most of their strength, and rather beyond it, in the labours 
of the farm. My brother at the age of thirteen assisted in 
threshing the crop of corn, and at fifteen wa^ the princi- 
pal labourer on the farm, for we had no hired servant, 
male or female. The anguish of mind we felt at our 
tender years, under these strait§ and difficulties, was very 
great. To think of our father growing old (for he was 
now above fifty) broken down with the long continued fa- 
tigues of his life, with a wife and five other children, and 
in a declining state of circumstances, these reflexions 
produced in my brother's mind and mine sensations of the 
deepest distress. I doubt not but the hard labour and 
sorrow at this period of his life, was in great measure the 
cause of that depression of spirits with which Robert was 



xxxiv THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

so ofteD ajSicted through his whole -life afterwards. At 
this time he was almost constantly afflicted in the even- 
ings with a dull head-ache, which at a future period of 
hi^i life, was exchanged for a palpitation of the hean, 
and a'threatening of fainting and suffocation in his bed, 
in the night time. ' 

" By a stipulation in my father's lease he liad a right 
to throw it up if he thought proper, at the 5nd of every 
sixth year. . He attempted to fix himself in a better farm 
at the end of the first six years, but failing in that at- 
tehipt, he continued where^ he was for six years more. 
He then took the farm of Lochlea, of 130 acres, at the 
rent of twenty shillings an acre, in the parish of Tarbol- 

ton, of Mr. then a merchant in Ayr, 

and now (1797) a merchant in Liverpool. He removed 
to this farm at Whitsunday 1777, and possessed it only 
seven years. No writing had ever been made out of the 
conditions of the lease, a misunderstanding took place re- 
specting them ; the subjects in dispute were submitted 
t6 arbitration, and the decision involved my father's af- 
fairs in ruin. He lived to know of this decision, but not 
to see any execution in consequence of it. He died oa 
tlie 13th of February 1784. * 

" The seven years we lived in Tarbolton parish (ex- 
tending from the seventeenth to the twenty-fourth of my 
brother's age) were not marked by much literary im- 
provement; bVit during this time, the foundation was laid 
of certain habits in my brother's character, which after- 
wards became but too prominent, and which malice and 
envy have taken delight to enlarge on. Though when 
young he WcCs bashful and awkward in his intercourse with 
women, yet when he approached manhood, his attach- 
ment to their society became very strong, and he was 
constantly the victim of spme fair enslaver. The symp- 
toms of his passion were often such as nearly to equal 
those of the celebrated Sappho. I never indeed knew, 
that he, fainted^ sujik, and died away^hnX. the agitations of 
his mind and body, exceeded any thing of the kind I ever 
knew in real life. He had always a particular jealousy 
of people who were richer than himself, or who had more 
consequence jn life. His love therefore rarely settled 
on persons oT this description. When he selected any 



THE IJFE OF BURNS. xxxv 

une out of the sovereignty of his good pleasure to whom 
he should pay his particular attention, she was instantly 
invested with a sufficient stock of charms, out of the 
plentiful sto'res of his own imagination, and there was 
often a great dissimilitude between his^fair captivator, as 
she appeared to others, and as she seemed when invested 
with the attributes he gave her. One generally reig^ned 
paramount in his aifections, but as Yorick*s affections 

flowed out towards Madame de L at the remise door, 

while the eternal vows of Eliza were' upon him, so Ro- 
bert was frequently encounteringotheraKractions, which' 
formed so many underplots in tne*drama of his love. As 
thfese connexions were governed by the strictest j'ules of 
virtue and modesty (fron^which he never deviated till he 
reached his 23d year) he be.came anxious to be in a si- 
tuation to marry. This was not likely to be soon the 
case, while he remained a farmer, as the stocking of a 
ftirm required a sum of money he -had no probability of 
being master of for a great while. He began thcrefo^re 
to think of trying some other line of life. He and I had 
for several years taken land of i«y father, for the purpose 
of raising flax on our own account. In the course of 
selling it, Robert began to think of turning flax-dre.sser, 
both as being suitable to his grand viewof settling in life, 
and as subservient to the flax-raising. He accordingly 
wreught at the business of a flax-dresser in Irwine for six 
months, but abandoned it at that period, ^^s neither agree- 
ing with his health nor inclination. In Irwine he had 
contracted some acquaintance, of a freer manruer of thinl^- 
ing and living than he had been used to, whose society 
prepared him Tor overleaping the bounds of rigM virtue, 
which bad hitherto restrained him. Towards the end of 
the period under review (in his 2r4th year) and soon after 
his father's death, he was furnished with the subject of 
his epistle to John Rankin. During this period also he 
became a free-mason, which was his first introdTiction to 
the life of a boon-companion. Yet notwithstanding thess 
circumstances, and the praise he has bestowed on Scotch 
drink (which seems to have misled his historians) I do 
not recollect, during these seven years, nor till towards 
^he end of his commencing author (when his growing 
celebrfty occasioned his being often in company) to have 



xxxvi THE LIFE OF BUl^NS. 

ever seen him intoxicated, nor was he at all given lo 
drinking. A stronger proof of the general sobriety of 
his conduct need not be required than what, I am about 
to give. During the whole of the time we lived in the 
farm of Lochlea ^ith my father, he allowed my brother 
and me such wages for our labour, as he gave to other 
labourers, as a part of which, every article of our cloath- 
ing manufactured in the family was regularly accounted 
for. When my father's affairs drew near a crisis, Robert 
and I took the farm* of Mossgiel, consisting of 118 acres, 
'at the rent of 9(71. per apnum, (the farm on which I live 
at present) from Mr. Gavin Hamilton, as an asylum for 
the family in case of the worst. It was stocked by the 
property'and individual savingstof the whole family, and 
was adjoint concern among us. Every member of the fa- 
mily was allowed ordinary wages for the labour he per- 
formed on the farm. My brother's allowance and mine 
;t was seven pounds perannum each. And during the whol€ 
time this family concern lasted, which was four years, 
aS well as during the preceding period at Lochlea, his 
expenses never in any one year exceeded his slender 
income. As I was intrusted witk the keeping of the 
family accounts, h is not possible that there can be any 
faflacy in this statement, in my brother's favour. His 
temperance and frugality were every thing that could be 
wished. 

V The farm o£^ Mossgiel lies very high, and mostly on 
a cold wet bottom. The first four years that we were 
on the farm were very frosty, and the spring was very 
late. Our crops in consequence were very unprofital?le, 
and notwithstanding our utmost diligence and econoiny, 
we. found ourselves obliged to giye.up our bargain, with 
the loss of a considerable part of our original stock. It 
was during these four years that Robert formed his con- 
nexion with Jean Armour, afterwards Mrs. Burns. This" 
connexion could no longer be concealed^ about t!ie time we 
came to a final determination to quit the farm. Robert 
durst not engage with a family in his poor unsettled state, 
but was anxious to shield his partner by every means in 
his power from the consequences of their imprudence. 
It was agreed therefore between them tjjat they should- 
make a legal acknowledgment of an irregular and pri- 



THE.LIFlL OF BURNS. xxxvii 

vale marriage, that he should go to Jamaica to fitish hia 
fortune^ and that she should I'emain with her father till it 
might please providence to put the means of supporting 
a family in his power. 

" Mrs. Burns was a great favourite of her father's. 
The intimation of a private marriage was the first sug- 
gestion he received of her real situation. He was in the 
greatest distress and fainted away. The marriage did 
not appear to him to make the matter any better. A hus- 
band in Jamaica appeared to him and to his wife little bet- 
ter than none, and an effectual bar to any other prospects 
of a settlement in life that their daughter might have. 
They therefore expressed a wish to her, that the written 
papers which respected the marriage should be cancelled^ 
and thus the marriage rendered void. In her melancho- 
ly state, she felt the deepest remorse at having brought 
such heavy affliction on parents that loved her so tenderly, 
and submitted to their intreaties. Their wish was men- 
tioned to Robert. He felt the deepest anguish of mind. 
He offered to stay at home and provide for his wife and 
fati.ily in the best manner that his daily labours could 
provide for them ; that being the only means in his power. 
Even this offer they did not approve of; for humble as 
Miss Armour's station was, and great though her impru- 
dence had been, she still, in the eyes of her partial pa- 
rents, might look to a better connexion than that with my 
frieiidless and unhappy brother, at that time without house 
or biding-place. Robert at length consented to their 
wishes. But his feelings oii this occasion were of the 
most distracting nature, and the impression of sorrow 
was not effaced, till by a regular marriage they were in- 
dissolubly united. In the state, of mind which this separa- 
tion produced, he wished to leave the country as soon as 
possible, and agreed with Dr. Douglas to go out to Ja- 
maica, as an assistant overseer, or as I believe it is called 
a book-keeper, on his estate. As he had not sufiicient 
money to pay his passage, and the vessel in which Dr. 
Douglas was to procure a passige for him was not ex- 
pected to sail for some time, Mr. Hamilton advised him 
to publish his poems in the mean time by subscription, 
as a likely way of getting a little money to provide him 
mbre liberally in necessaries for Jamaica. Agreeably to 

D 



xxxviii THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

this advice, subscription bills were printed immediately, 
and the printing was commenced at Kilmarnock, his pre- 
parations going on at the same time for his voyage. The 
reception however which his poems met with in the 
world, and the friends they procured him, made him 
change his resolution of going to Jamaica, and he was ad- 
vised to go to Edinburgh to publish a second edition. On 
his return, in happier circumstances, he renewed his con- 
nexion with Mrs. Burns, and rendered it permanent by 
an union for life. 

" Thus, Madam, have I endeavoured to give you a 
simple narrative of the leading circumstances in my 
brother's early life. The reinaining part he spent in 
Edinburgh, or in Dumfries-shire, and its incidents arc 
as well known to you as to me. His genius having pro- 
cured him your pauonage and friendship, this gave rise 
to the correspondence between you, in which I believed 
his sentiments were delivered with the most respectful, 
but most unreserved confidence, and which only termi- 
nated with tlie last days of hjs life." 

This narrative of Gilbert Burns may serve as a com- 
mentary on the precedmg sketch of our poet's life by 
himself. It will be seen that the distraction of mind 
which he mentions (p. 23.) arose from the distress and 

sorrow in which he had involved his future wife The 

whole circumstances attending this connexion are certain- 
ly of a very singular nature.* 

The reader will perceive, from the foregoing narra- 
tive, how much the children of William Burnes were in- 
debted to their father, who was certainly a man of uncom- 
inon talents ; though it does not appear that he possessed 
any portion of that vivid imagination for which the sub- 
ject of these memoirs was distinguished. In page 28, it 
is observed by our poet, that his fother h.»dan unaccount- 
able antipathy to dancing-schools, and that his attending 
one of these, brought on him his displeasure, and even 
dislike. On this observation Gilbert has made the fol- 

* In pr.ge 25, tlie poet mentions l^is — " skulking from covert to 
covert, under ten-or of a jail." Tiie '* pack of the law were un- 
coupled at hir, tieels," to oblige him to fuid security for tlie main- 
tei..'i)ce of his twin-cliiklren, whom lie was not permitted to le- 
gitimate by ii marriage with their mother 1 



TriE LIFE OF BURNS. xxxix 

lov.-ing; remark, which seeiTis entitled to implicit credit. 
— '' I'wonder how Robert could attribute to our father 
that lastini^ resentmein of his going to a dancing-school 
against his will, of which he was •incapable. 1 believe 
the truth was, that he about this time began to see the 
dangerous impetuosity of my brother's passions, as \yell 
as his not being amenable to counsel, which often irrita- 
ted my father : and which he would naturally think a dan- 
cing-schooi Avas not likely to correct. But he was proud 
of Robert's genius, which he bestowed more expense in 
cultivating, than on the rest of the family, in the instan- 
ces of sending him to Ayr, and Kirk-Oswald schools; 
and he was greatly delighted with his warmth of heart, 
and his conversational powers. He had indeed that dis- 
like ot dancing-schools which Robert mentions; but so 
far overcame it during Robert's first month of attendance, 
that he allowed all the rest of the family that were fit for 
it, to accompany him during the second month. Robert 
excelled in dancing, and was for some time distractedly 
fond of it." 

In the original letter to Dr.. Moore, our poet describ- 
ed his ancestors as " renting lands of the noble Keith's 
of Marischal, and as having vhad the honour of sharing 
their fate. I do not," continues he, " use the word ho- 
nour with any reference to political principles ; /oz/«/and 
disloval., I take to be merely relative terms, in that ancient 
and formid-ible court, known in this country by the name 
of Club-law, where the ri,^-ht is always with the strong- 
est. But those who dare welcome ruin, and shake hands 
with infamy, for v/hat they sincerely believe to be the 
cause of their God, or their king, are, as Mark Antony 
says in Shakespeare, of Brutus and Cassius, honourable 
men. I mention this circumstance because it threw my 
father on the world at large." 

This paragraph has been omitted in printing the let- 
ter, at the desire of Gilbert Burns, and it would have 
been unnecessary to have noticed it on the present oc- 
casion, had not several manuscript copies of that letter 
been in circulation. " 1 do not know," observes Gilbert 
Burns, '' how my brother could be misled in the account 
he has given of the Jacobitism of his ancestors. I believe 
the Earl Marischal forfeited his title and estate in 1715, 



>:l THE LIFE ©F BURNS. 

!>efore my father was born ; and amonjj a collection oil 
parish certificates in his possession, I have read one, sta- 
ting that the bearer had no concern in the laie wicked 
rebenionj* On the information of one who knew WiiliSPm. 
.Burnes soon after he arrived in the county of Ayr, it may 
be mentioned, that a report did prevail, that he had taken 
the field with the youn^ Chevalier, a report which the 
certificate mentioned by his son, was perhaps intended to 
counteract. 8trang-ers from the North, settling in the 
low country of Scoii-.nd, were in those days liable to sus- 
picions, of having been, in the familiar phrase of the 
touniry, " out in the forty-five," (1745) especially when 
ihey had any stateliness or reserve about them, as was 
the case with William Burnes. It may easily be concei- 
ved, that our poet would cherish the belief of his father's 
having been engaged in the daring enterprise of princa. 
■"hailcs-Edward. The generous attachment, the heroic 
nlour, and the final misfortunes of the adherents of the 
ilouse of Stewart, touched with sympathy his youthful 
I'nd ardcRt mind,' and inPiUenced his original political opi- 
•iions.* 

* There is another obscn-alion of Gilbert Burns on his brothef-'s 
riaiTative, in which seme persons will be interested. It refers to 
page 13, where the poet speuks of his youthful friends. " My bi»o- 
ihei-," says Gilbert Burns, " seenns to set ofl his early companions 
'n too consequential a manner. The principal acquaintance we 
had in Ayr, while boys, were four .sons of Mr. Andrew M'Culloch, 
a distant relation of my mother's, who kept a tea-shop, and had 
made a little money in the contraband trade, very common at that 
time. Ke died while the boys were young, and my father was no- 
minated one of the tutors. The two eldest were bred shopkeep- 
ers, the tliird a surgeon, and the younj^est, the only surviving one, 
•was bred in a counting-house in Glasgow, where he is now a 
r£spectable merchant. 1 believe all these boys went to th.e West 
Indies. Then there were two sons oi'Dr. Malcolm, whom I have 
mentioned m my letter to ISIrs. Dunlop. The eldest, a very worthy 
young man, went to the East-Indies, where he had a commission 
'in the army ; he is the person whose heart my brotiier says the 
^funny Begvm scenes could not corrnpt. The other, by tiie interest 
of Lady Wallace, got an ensig-ncy in a regiment, raised by the 
Duke of Ilamdton, during the American v/ar. I believe neither cf 
ihem are now (1797) alive. We also knew the prer.cnt Dr. Pater- 
son of Ayr, and a younger brotlier of his now in Jamaica, who 
wcvi: much younger than us. I had almost forgot to mer.iion Dr. 
J ' ' . • f Ayr, who wns a little ohler than my brother, and wiih 



THE LIFE or BURNS. xli 

The father of our poet is dosrribed by one who knew 
him towards the latter end of his life, as above the com- 
mon stature, thin, and bent with labour. His countenance 
was serious and expressive, and the scanty locks on his 
head were grey. He avas of a religious turn of mind, and, 
as is usual among the Scottish peasantry, a good deal 
conversant in speculative theolo«:y. There is in Gilbert's 
hands, a little manual of religious belief, in the form of 
a dialogue between a father and his son, composed by 
him for the use of his children, in which the benevolence 
of his heart seems to have led him to soften the rigid 
Calvinism of the Scottish church, into somethingapproach- 
ing to Arminianism. He was a devout nun, and in the 
practice of calling his family together, to join in prayer. 
It is known that the exquisite picture, in the Coiter''.<i 
Saturday Mif/it, represents Wiiiiam Burnes and his fa- 
mily at their evenh)g devotions, beginning 

" The cheerful supper done, with serious l*:xe, ' 

Of a family so interesting as th'.vt which inhabited^ 
the cottage of Vvilliam Burnes, and particularly of the 
father of the family, the reader will perhaps be willing > 
to listen to some farther account. What follows is giv- 
en by one already mentioned with so much honour, in 
the narriitive of Gilbert Burnes, Mr. Murdoch, the pre- 
ceptor of our poet, w!io, in a letter to Joseph Cooper 
Walker, Esq. of Dublin, author of T/ie Historical Me- 
moir of the Italian Tragedy^ lately published, thus ex- 
presses himself: 



** I was lately favoured with a letter from our worthy 
friend, the Rev. William Adair, in which he requested 
me to communicate to you whatever particulars I could 
recollect concerning Robert Burns, the Ayrshire poet. 
My business being at present multifarious and harassing, 
my attention is consequently so much divided, and I am 

whom we had a longer and closer intimacy than with any of the 
others, which did not however continue in after life." 

D % 



Klii THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

so little in the habit of expressing my thoughts on paper, 
that at this distance of time, I can give but a very imper- 
fect sketch of the early part of the life of that extraor- 
dinary tj;enius, with which alone I am acquainted. 

" William Burnes, the father of the poet, was born in 
the shire of Kincardine, and bred a cjardener. He had 
been settled in Ayrshire, ten or twelve years before I 
knew him, and had been in the service of Mr. Crawford 
of Doonside. He was afterwards employed as a garden- 
er and overseer, by Provost Ferguson, of Doonholm, in 
the parish of Alloway, which is noAv united with that of 
Ayr. In this parish, on the road side, a Scotch mile and 
a half from the town of Ayr, and half a m.ile from the 
bridge of Doon, William Burnes took a piece of land, 
consisting of about seven acres, part of which he laid out 
in garden ground, and })art of which he kept to graze a 
cow, See still continuing in the employ of Provost Fergu- 
son. Upon this little farm was erected a humble dwel- 
ling, of which William Burnes was the architect. It was, 
with the exception of a little straw, literally a tabernacle 
of clay. In this mean cottage, of which I myself was at 
times an inhabitant, I really believe there dwelt a larger 
portion of content, than in any palace in Europe. The 
Cotter^s Saturday Mght^ will giye some idea of the tem- 
per and manners that prevailed there. 

« In 1765, about the middle of March, Mr. W. Burnes 
came to Ayr, and sent to the school, where I was impro- 
ving in writing, under \\,y good friend Mr. Robison, de- 
siring that I would come and speak to him at a certain 
inn, and brint; my writiug-book with me. This was im- 
mediately complied with. Having examined my writing, 
he was pleased with it;. ..(you will readily allow he was not 
difficult) and t^-ld ntc that he had received very satisfactory 
infornicition of Mr. Tcnnant, the master of the English 
school, Gonceriilng niy improvement in English, and in 
his method of teaching. In the month of May following, 
I was engaged by Mr. Burnes, and four of his neighbours, 
to teach, and accordingly began to teach the little school 
at Alloway, which was siuuited a few yards from the ar- 
g llaceous fabric above-mentioned. My five employers 
u.iderlook to board mc by turns, and to make up a cer- 
tain salary, at the end of ilic year, provided my quarterly 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xliii 

>aytnents from the different pupils did not amount to 
hat sum. 

" My pupil, Robert Burns, was then between six and 

jeven years of age ; his preceptor about eighteen Ro- 

jert and his younger brother, Gilbert, had been grounded 
1 little in English, before they were put under my care. 
They both made a rapid progress in reading ; and a tole- 
.•a^e progress in writing. In reading, dividing words 
into syllables by rule, spelling without book, parsing sen- 
tences, &c. Robert and Gilbert were generally at the up- 
per end of the class, even when ranged with boys by far 
their seniors. The books most commonly used in the 
school were 77/ c Sfidlln^ Book^ The .Vcw Testament ^^ The 
Biblc^ Maso7t's Collection of Prose and Verse, and Fisher'' s 
English Graimnar. They committed to memory the 
hymns, and other poems of that collection with uncom- 
mon facility. This facility was partly owing ta the me- 
thod pursued by their father and me in instructing them, 
which was, to make them thoroughly acquainted with 
the meaning of every word in each sentence, that was to 
be committed to memory. By the bye, this may be ea- 
sier done and at an earlier period, than is generally 
thought. As soon as they were capable of it, I taught 
them to turn verse into its natural prose order ; some- 
times to substitute synonimous expressions for poetical 
words, and to supply all the ellipses. These, you know 
are the means of knowing that the pupil understands 
his author. . These are excellent helps to the arrange- 
ment of words in sentences, as v/ell as to a variety of ex- 
pression. 

" Gilbert always appeared to me to possess a more 
lively imagination, and to be more of the wit than Ro- 
bert. I attempted to teach them a little church-music. 
Here they were left far behind by all the rest of the 
school. Robert's ear, in particular, was remarkably dull, 
and his voice untunable. It was long before I could get 
them to distinguish one tune from another. Robert's 
countenance was generally grave, and expressive of a 
serious, contemplative, and thoughtful mind. Gilbert's 
face said. Mirth, with thee I mean to live ; and certainly, 
if any person who knew the two boys, hud been asked, 
Vhich of them was the most likely to court the muses, he 



xliv THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

would surely have never guessed that Robert had a pro- 
pensity of that kind. 

" In the year 1767, Mr. Burnes quitted his mud edifice, 
and took possession of a farm, (Mount Oliphant) of his 
own improving, while in the service of Provost Fergu- 
son. This farnj being at a considerable distance from the 
school, the boys could not attend regularly ; and some 
changes taking place among the other supporters of the 
school, I left it, having continued to conduct it for nearly 
two years and a half. 

" In the year 1 772, I was appointed (being one of five 
candidates who were examined) to teach the English 
school at Ayr; and in 1773, Robert Burns came to board 
and lodge with me, for the purpose of revising English 
grammar, Sec. that he might be better qualified to instruct 
his brothers and sisters at home. He was now with me 
day and night, in school, at all meals, and in all my walks. 
At the end of one week, I told him, that, as he was now 
pretty much master of the parts of speech, Sec. 1 should 
like to teach him something of French pronunciation^ 
that when he should meet with the name of ta French 
town, ship, officer, or the like in the news|)apers, he 
might be able to pronounce it something like a French 
word. Robert was glad to hear this proposal, and imme- 
diately we attacked the French with great courai^e. 

" Now there was little else to be heard but the declen- 
sion of nouns, the conjugation of verbs, &C. When 
walking together, and even it meals, I was constantly 
telling him the names of different objects, as they pre- 
sented themselves, in French ; so that he was hourly lay- 
ing in a stock of words, and sonieiimes little phr:.ses. In 
short he took such pleasure in learning, and I in teach- 
ing, that it is difficult to sry which of the two was the 
most zealous in the business; and about the end of the 
second week of our study of the French, we began to 
read a little of the Adventures of Tdemachus^m Fenelon's 
own words. 

" But now the plains of Mount Oliphant began to 
whiten, and Robert was suniinoned to relinquish the 
pleasing scenes tiiat surrounded the grotto of Caiypso, 
and, ahmtii' with a sickle, to seek glory by sigTK.libing 
himself in the fields of Ceres — and so he did ; for although 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xlv 

but about fifteen, I was told that he performed the work 
of a man. 

" Thus was I deprived of my very apt pupil, and con» 
seqiiently agreeable companion, at the end of three 
^veeks, one of which was spent entirely in the study of 
Eni^lish, and the other two chiefly in that of French. I 
did not, however, lose sight of him ; but was a frequent 
visitant at his father's house, when I had my half holi- 
day, and very often went accompanied with one or two 
persons more intelligent than myself, that good William 
Burnes might enjoy a mental feast. Then the labouring 
oar was shifted to some other hand. The father and the 
son sat down with us, when we enjoyed a conversation, 
wherein solid reasoning, sensible remark, and a mode- 
rate seasoning of jocularity, were so nicely blended, as 
to render it palatable to all parties. Robert had a hun- 
dred questions to ask me about the French, Sec. and the 
father, whc had always rational information in view, had 
still some questions to propose to my more learned 
friends, upon moral or natural philosophy, or some such 
interesting subject. Mrs. Burnes too was of the party ^s 
much as possible. 

" Bat still the house affairs Vv-ould draw her thencCj 
Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
She 'd come again, and with a greedy ear. 
Devour up thtir discourse " 

And particularly that of her husband. At all tin^eg^ 
and in all companies, she listened to him with a more 
marked attention than to any body else. When under 
the necessity of being absent while he was speaking, she 
seemed to regret, as a real loss, that she had missed 
what the good man had said. This worthy woman., 
Agnes Brown, had the most thorough esteem for her 
husband, of any woman I ever knew. I can by no means 
wonder that she highly esteemed him ; for I myself have 
always considered William Burnes as by far the best of 
the huiT.an race that ever I had the pleasure of being ac- 
quainted with — and many a worthy chai-acter I have 
known. I can cheerfully join wiih Robert in the last 
lines of his epitaph, (borrowed from Goldsmith.) 



xlvi THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

" And ev'n his failings lean'cl to virtue's side." 

<' He was an excellent liusband, if I may judge front 
his assiduous attention to the ease and comfort of his 
worthy partner ; and from her affectionate behaviour to 
him, as well as her unwearied attention to the duties of 
a mother. 

" He was a tender and affectionate father ; he took 
pleasure in leadini]; his children in the path of virtue ; 
not in drivins^ them, as some parents do, to the perform- 
ance of duties to which they themselves are averse. He 
took care to find fe.ult but very seldom ; and therefore when 
he did rebuke, he was listened to with a kind of reve- 
i^ential awe. A look of disapprobation was felt; a re- 
proof was severely so ; and a stripe with the taivs^ even 
on the skirt of the coat, gave heart-felt pain, produced a 
loud lamentation, and brought forth a flood of tears. 

" He had the s^xX. of gaining the esteem and good-will 
of those that were labourers under him. I think I never 
saw him angry but twice ; the one tiiiiC it was with the 
foreman of the band, for not reaping the field as he was 
desired ; and the other time it was with an old man for 
using smutty inuendoes and double entendres. Were 
every foul-moiuh'd old man to receive a seasonable check 
in this way, it would be to the advantage of the rising 
generation. As he was at no time overbearing to inferi- 
ors, he was equally incapable of that passive, pitiful, pal- 
try spirit, that induces some people to kecfi booing and 
booing in the presence of a great man. He always treat- 
ed his superiors with a becoming respect ; but he never 
gave the smallest encouragement to aiistocratical arro- 
gance. But 1 must not pretend to give you a description of 
ail the manly qualities, the rational and Christian virtues, 
of the venerable Vv'illiam Burnes. Time would. fail me. 
I shall only add, that he carefully practised every known 
duty, and avoided every thing that was criminal; or, in 
the apostles's words, Herein did he exercice himself^ in liv- 
ing a life void of offence torjards God and towards men. () 
for a world of men of such dispositions ! We should then 
have no wars. I have often wished, for the good of man- 
kind, that it were as customary to honour and perpetuate 
the memory of those who excel in moral rectitude, as )• 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xivii 

is to extol what are called heroic actions : — then would 
the mausoleum of the friend of my youth, overtop and 
surpass most of the monuments I see in Westminster 
Abbey. 

" Although I cannot do justice to the character of this 
worthy man, yet you will perceive, from these few parti- 
culars, what kind of person had the principal hand in the 
education of our poet. He spoke the English language 
with more propriety (both with respect to diction and 
pronunciation) than any man I ever knew, with no great- 
er advantages. This had a very jjood effect on the boys, 
who began to talk, and reason like men, much sooner 
than their neighbours. I do not recollect any of their 
eotemporaries at my little seminary, who afterwards 
made any great figure as literary characters, except Dr. 
Tennant, who was chuplain to Colonel Fullarton's regi- 
ment, and who is now in the East Indies. He is a man 
of genius and learning ; yet aSF.ible, and free from pedan- 
try. ^ 

" Mr. Burnes, in a short time, found that he had over- 
rated Mount Oliphant, and that he could not rear his nu- 
merous family upon it ....After being there some years, 
he removed to Lochlea, in the parish of Tarbolton, 
where, I believe, Robert wrote most of his poems. 

" But here. Sir, you will permit me to pause. I can 
tell you but little more relative to our poet. 1 shall, 
however, in my next, send you a copy of one of his let- 
ters to me, about the year 1783. 1 received one since, 
but it is mislaid. Please remember me in the best man- 
ner, to my worthy friend, Mr. Adair, when you see him, 
or write to hi;n." 

Hurt 'Street^ Bhonnhury-scjtia rt', 
London, reO. 22, 1799. 



'i'HE scene that opr-ned on our Bard in Edinburgh was 
altogether new, and in a variety of other respects highly 
interesting ; especiaily to one of his disposition of mind. 
To use an expression of his own, he found himself " sud- 
denly translated from the verit;st shades of life/' into the 



xlviii THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

presence, and indeed, into the society, of a nrimber of 
persons, previously known to him by report as of the high- 
est distinction in his country, and whose characters it 
was natural for him to examine with no common curiosity. 

From the men of letters, in generzil, his reception was 
particularly flattering. The late Dr. Robertson, Dr. 
Blair, Dr. Gregory, Mr. Stewart, Mr. Mackenzie, and 
Mr. Frazer Tytler, may be mentioned in the list of those 
who perceived his uncommon talents, who acknowledg- 
ed more especially his powers in conversation, and who 
interested themselves in the cultivation of his genius. 
In Edinburgh literary and fashionable society are a good 
deal mixed. Our bard was an acceptable guest in 
Ihe gayest and most elevated circles, and frequently re- 
ceived from female beauty and elegance, those attentions, 
above all others most grateful to him. At the table of 
Lord Monboddo he was a frequent guest ; and while he 
enjoyed the society, and partook of the hospitalities of 
the venerable judge, he experienced the kindness and 
condescension of liis lovely and accomplished daughter. 
The singular beauty of this young lady was illuminated 
by that happy expression of countenance which results 
from the union of cultivated taste and superior under- 
standing, with the finest affections of the mind. The in- 
fluence of such attractions was not unfelt by our poet. 
<' There has not been any thing like Miss Burnet,'* said 
he in a letter to a friend, " in all the combination of 
beauty, grace and goodness, the Creator has formed, 
since Milton's Eve on the first day of her existence." 
In his Address to Edinburgh^ she is celebrated in a strain 
of still greater elevation. 

Burns had entertained hopes of promotion in the ex- 
cise ; but circumstances occurred which retarded tlieir 
fulfilment, and which in his own mhid destroyed all ex- 
pectation of their being ever fulfilled. The extraordi- 
nary events which ushered in the revolution of France, 
interested the feelings, and excited the hopes of men in 
.every corner of Europe. Prejudice and tyranny seemed 
about to disappear from among iiien, and the day-star of 
reason to rise upon a benighted world. In the dawn of 
this beautiful morning the genius of French freedom ap- 
peared on our southern horizon with the couijtenance oi 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. xlix 

an angel, but speedily assumed the features of a demon, 
and vanished in a shower of blood. 

Though previously a Jacobite and a cavalier, Burns 
had shared in the original hopes entertained of this asto- 
nishing revolution by ardent and benevolent minds. The 
novelty and the hazard of the attempt meditated by the 
F'irst or Constituent Assembly, sepved rather, it is pro- 
bable, to recommend it to his daring temper ; and the un- 
fettered scope proposed to be given to every kind of ta- 
lents, was doubtless gratifying to the feelings of con- 
scious but indignant genius. Burns foresaw not the 
mighty ruin that was to be the immediate consequence 
of an cnterprize, which, on its commencement, promis- 
ed so much happiness to the human race. And even 
after the career of guilt and of blood commenced, he 
could not inmiediately, it may be presumed, withdraw 
his partial gaze from a people who had so lately breath- 
ed the sentiments of universal peace and benignity, or 
obliterate in his bosom the pictures of hope and of hap- 
piness to v/hich those sentiments had given birth. Under 
these impressions, he did not always conduct himself 
with the circumspection and prudence which his de- 
pendent situation seemed to demand. He engaged in- 
deed in no popular association, so common at the time of 
which we speak; but in company he did not conceal his 
opinions of public measures, or of the reforms required 
in the practice of our government : and sometimes in 
his social and unguarded moments, he uttered them with 
a wild and unjustifiable vehemence. Information of this 
was given to the board of excise, with the exaggerations 
so general in such cases. A superior officer in that de- 
partment >vas authorized to inquire into his conduct. 
Burns defended himself in a letter addressed to one of 
the Board, written with great independence of spirit, 
and with more than his accustomed eloquence. The of- 
ficer appointed to enquire into his conduct gave a fa- 
vourable report. His steady friend, Mr. Graham, of Fin- 
try, interposed his good offices in his behalf ; and the im- 
prudent ganger was suffered to retain his situation, but 
given to understand that his promotion was deferred," 
and must depend on his future behaviour. 

This circumstance made a deep impression on the 

E 



1 THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

mind of Burns. Fame exaggerated his misconduct, and 
represented him as actually dismissed from his office. 
And this report induced a gentleman of much respecta- 
bility to propose a subscription in his favour. The of- 
fer was refused by our poet in a letter of great elevation 
of sentiment, in which he gives an account of the whole 
of this transaction, and defends himself from the imputa- 
tion of disloyal sentiments on the one hand, and on th© 
other from the charge of having made submissions, for 
the sake of his office, unworthy of his character. 

" The partiality of my countrymen," he observes 
" has brought me forward as a man of genius, and has 
given me a character to support. In the poet I have 
avowed manly and independent sentiments, which I hope 
have been found in the man. Reasons of no less weight 
than the support of a wife and children have pointed out 
my present occupation as the only eligible line of life 
within my reach. Still my honest fame is my dearest 
concern, and a thousand times have I tremibled at the 
idea of the degrading epithets that malice or misrepre- 
sentation may affix to my name. Often in blasting an- 
ticipation have I listened to some future hackney scrib- 
bler, with the heavy malice of savage stupidity, exult 
ingly asserting, that Burns, notwithstanding i\\Qfnfaron- 
ade of independence to be found in his works, and after 
having been held up to public view, and to public estima-A 
tion, as a man of some genius, yet quite destitute of re- 
sources within himself to support his borrowed dignity^ 
dwindled into a paltry exciseman, and slunk out the rest 
of his insignificant existence in the meanest of pursuits, 
and among the lowest of mankind. 

" In your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me to lodge 
my strong disavowal and defiance of such slanderous 
falsehoods. Burns was a poor man from his birth, and 
an Exciseman by necessity ; but I ivill say it ! the ster- 
ling of his honest worth, poverty could not debase, and 
liis independent British spirit, oppression might bend, 
but could not subdue." 

It was one of the last acts of his life to copy this letter 
into his book of manuscripts, accompanied by some ad- 
ditional remarks on the same subject. It is not surprise 
ing, that at a season of universal alarm for the safety of 



TtiE LIFE OF BURNS. li 

the constitution, the indiscreet expressions of a man so 
powerful as Burns, should have attracted notice. The 
times certainly required extraordinary vigilance in those 
entrusted with the administration of the government, and 
to ensure the safety of the constitution was doubtless 
their first duty. Yet generous minds v.ill lament that 
their measures of precaution should have robbed the ima- 
gination of our poet of the last prop on which his hopes 
of independence rested, and by embittering his peace, 
have aggravated those exces'ocs which were soon to con- 
duct him to an untimely grave. 

Though the vehemence of Burns's temper, increased 
as it often was by stimulating liquors, might lead him 
into many improper and unguarded expressions, there 
seems no reason to doubt of his attachment to our mix- 
ed form of government. In his common-place book, 
where he could have no temptation to disguise, are the 
following sentiments...." Whatever might be my senti- 
ments of republics, ancient or modern, as to Britain, 
1 ever abjured the idea. A constitution, which in its 
original principles, experience has proved to be every 
way fitted for our happiness, it would be insanity to 
abandon for an untried visionary theory." In conform- 
ity to these sentiaients, when the pressing nature of 
public affairs called in 1795, for a general arming of 
the people. Burns appeared in the ranks of the Dum- 
fries volunteers, and employed his poetical talents in sti- 
mulating their patriotism ; and at this season of alarm 
he brought forward that hymn, worthy of the Grecian' 
Muse, when Greece was most conspicuous for genius 
and valor ; beginning 

" Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies." 

Though by nature of an athletic form, Burns had in 
his constitution the peculiarities and the delicacies that 
belong to the temperament of genius^ He was liable, 
from a very early period of life, to that interruption in 
the process of digestion, which arises from deep and 
anxious thought, and which is sometimes tlie effect, and 
sometimes the cause of depression of spirits. Connected 
with this disorder of the stomach, there was a disposition 



m THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

to head-ache, affecting more especially the temples and 
eye-balls, and freiitiently accompanied by violent and ir- 
regular movements of the heart. Endowed by nature 
with great sensilnlity of nerves, Burns was, in his corpo- 
real, as well as in his mental system, liable to inordinate 
impressions ; to fever of body, as v»-ell as of mind. This 
predisposition to disease, which strict temperance in diet, 
regular exercise, and sound sleep, might have subdued, 
habits of a very diflcrcnt nature ^:t^cngthened and. in- 
flamed. 

It was hoped by some of his friends, that if he could 
live through the months of spring, the succeeding sea- 
son might restore him. But they were disappomted. 
The genial beams of the sun infused no vigour into his 
languid frame ; the summer wind blew upon him, but 
produced no refreshment. About the latter end of Jane 
he was advised to go into the country, and impatient of 
medical advice, as well as of every species of controul, 
he determined for himself to try the effects of bathing 
in the sea. For this purpose he took up his residence 
at Brow, in Annandale, about ten miles east of Dumr 
iVieF., on the shore of ;^ Sol way-Firth. 

It happened that at ^'tliat time a lady with v/hom he 
had been connected in friendship by the sympathies of 
kindred genius, was residing in the immediate neigh- 
bourhood. Being informed of his arrival she invited 
iiim to dinner, and sent her carriage for him to the cot- 
tage where he lodged, as he was unable to walk " I 

was struck,'* says this lady (in a confidential letter to a 
friend written soon after) " with his appearance on en- 
tering the room. The stam.p of death was impressed on 
his features. He seemed already touching the brink 
of eternity. His first salutation was, " Well, Madam, 
have you any commands for the other world." I re- 
plied that it seemed a doubtful case which of us should 
be there soonest, and that I hoped he would yet live to 
write my epitaph. (I Avas then in a poor state of health.) 
He looked in my face with an air of great kindness, and 
expressed liis concern at seeing me look so ill, with his 
accustomed sensibility. At table he ate little or nothing, 
and he complained of having entirely lost the tone of his 
stomach. We had a long and sci ioys conversation a- 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. Hi 

bout his present situation, and the ^approaching termi- 
nation of all his earthly prospects. He spoke of his 
death without any of the ostentation of philosophy, but 
with firmness as well as feeling.. ..as an eventlikely to hap- 
pen very soon, and which gave him concern chiefly 
from leaving his four children so young and unprotected, 
and his wife in so interesting a situation.. ..in hourly ex- 
pectation of lying in with a fifth. He mentioned, wiih 
seeming pride and satisfaction, the promising genius of 
Lis eldest son, and the flattering marks of approbation he 
had received from his teachers, and dwelt particularly 
on his hopes of that boy's future conduct and merit. 
His anxiety for his family seemed to hang heavy upon 
him, and the more perhaps from the reflection that he 
had not done them all the justice he was so well quali- 
fied to do. Passing from this subject, he shewed great 
concern about the care of his literary fame, and particu- 
larly the publication of his posthumous works. He said 
he was well aware that his death would occasion some 
noise, and that every scrap of his writing v/ould be revi- 
ved against him to the injury of his future reputation r 
that letters and verses written with unguarded and im- 
proper freedom, and which he earnestly wished to have 
buried in oblivion, Avould be handed about by idle vanity, 
or malevolence, when no dread of his resentment would 
restrain them, or prevent the censures of shrill-ton gued 
malice, or the insidious sarcasms of envy, from pouring 
forth all their venom to blast his fame. 

" He lamented that he had written many epigrams 
on persons against whom he entertained no enmity, and 
whose characters he should be sorry to wound ; and 
many indifferent poetical pieces, which he feared would 
now, with all their imperfections on their head, be 
thrust upon the world. On this account he deeply re- 
gretted having deferred to put his papers into a state of 
arrangement, as he was now quite incapable of the ex- 
ertion." — The lady goes on to mention many other to- 
pics of a private nature on which he spoke. — " The con- 
versation," she adds, '* was kept up with great evenness 
and animation on his side. I had seldom seen his 
mind greater or more collected. There was frequent- 
ly a considerable degree of vivacity in iiis sallies,, and 
E 2 



liv THE LIFE OF BURNS. 

they wowlcl probably have had a greater share, had not 
the concern and dejection I could not disguise, damp- 
ed the spirit of pleasantry he seemed not unwilling to 
indulge.'* 

" We parted about sun-set on the evening of that day, 
(the 5th of July, 1796) ; the next day 1 saw him again, 
and we parted to meet no more !" 

When brought back to his own house in Dumfries, on 
the 18th of July, he was no longer able to stand upright. 
At this time a tremor pervaded his frame ; his tongue 
was parched, and bis mind sunk into delirium, when not 
roused by conversation. On the second and third day 
the fever increased, and his strength diminished. On 
the fourth, the sufferings of this great but ill-fated ge- 
nius were terminated, and a life was closed in which vir 
tue and passion had been at perpetual variance. 

Burns died in great poverty, but the independence of 
3us spirit, and the exemplary prudence of his wife, had 
preserved him from debt. He had received from his 
poems a clear profit of about nine hundred pounds. Of 
this sum, the part expended on his library (which was far 
tVom extensive) and in the humble furniture of his house, 
remained ; and obligations were found for two hundred 
pounds a.dvanced by him to the assistance of those to 
'^vhom he was united by the ties of blood, and still more 
"by those of esteem and affection. When it is consider- 
ed that his expenses in Edinburgh, and on his various 
ournies, could not be inconsiderable ; that his agricultu- 
ral -undertaking was unsuccessful ; that his income from 
the excise v/as for some lime as low as fifty, and never 
rose to above seventy pounds a year; that his family was 
large, and his spirit liberal — no one will be surprised that 
his circumstances were so poor, or that as his health de- 
cayed, his proud and feeling heart sunk under the secret 
consciousness of indigence, and the apprehensions of 
absolute want. Yet poverty never bent the spirit of 
Burns to any pecuniary meanness. Neither chicanery 
nor sordidness ever appeared in his conduct. He carried 
his disregard of money to a biameable excess. Even in 
the midst of distress he bore himself loftily to the world, 
and received with a jealous reluctance every offer of 
.friendly assiBtance. His printed poems bad procureti 



THE LIFE OF BURNS. ly 

him great celebrity, and a just and fair recompense for 
the letter offsprings of his pen, might have produced him 
considerable euiolument. In the year 1795, the Editor 
of a London newspaper, high in its character for litera- 
ture and independence of sentiment, made a proposal to 
him, that he should furnish them once a week with an 
article for their poetical department, and receive from 
them a recompense of fifty-two guineas per annum ; an 
ofier which the pride of genius disdained to accept. Yet 
he had for several years furnished, and was at that time fur- 
nishing, the Museum of Johnson with his beautiful lyrics 
without fee or reward, and was obstinately refusing all 
recompense for his assistance to the greater work of 
Mr. Thomson, which the justice and generosity of that 
gentleman was pressing upon him. 

The sense of his poverty, and of the approaching dis- 
tress of his infant family, pressed heavily on Burns as he 
lay on the bed of death. Yet he alluded to his indigence, 
at times, with something approaching to his wonted gaie- 
ty... .''• What business," said he to Dr. Maxwell, who at- 
tended him with the utmost zeal, " has a physician to 
waste his time on me ? I am a poor pigeon not worth 
plucking. Alas ! I have not feathers enough upon me to 
carry iiiC to my grave." And when his reason was lost 
in delirium, his ideas run in the same melancholy train ^ 
the horrors of a jail were continually present to his trou- 
bled imagination, and produced the most affecting excla- 
mations. 



ELEGY 

TO THE MEMORY OF BURNS. 

BY ROSCOE. 



JlEAR high thy bleak majestic hills, 

Thy shelter'd vallies proudly spread, 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills, 

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red 
But ah ! what poet now shall tread 

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
Since he, the sweetest bard is dead 

That ever breath'd the soothing strain ? 

As green thy towering pines may grow. 

As clear thy streams may speed along, 
As bright thy summer suns may glow, 

As gaily charm thy feathery throng ; 
But now, unheeded is the song, 

And dull and lifeless all around. 
For his wild harp lies all unstrung. 

And cold the hand that wak'd its sound- 

What tho* thy vigorous offspring rise, 

In arts, in arms thy sons excel ; 
Tho' beauty in thy daughter's eyes, 

And health in every feature dwell; 
Yet who shall now their praises tell, 

In strains impassion'd, fond and free, 
Since he no more the song shall swell 

To love, and liberty, and thee ? 



Ivii 

With stcp-dame eye and frown severe 

His hapless youth why didst thou view ? 
For all thy joys to him were dear, 

And all his vows to thee were due : 
Nor greater bliss his bosom knew, 

In opening youth's delightful prime, 
Than when thy favouring ear he drew 

To listen to his chaunted rhyme. 

Thy lonely wastes and frowning skies 

To him were all with rapture fraught ; 
He heard with joy the tempest rise 

That wak'd him to sublimcr thought ; 
And oft thy winding dells he sought, 

Where wild-flowers jjour'd their rathe perfume. 
And with sincere devotion brought 

To thee the summer's earliest bloom. 

But ah ! no fond maternal smiie 

His unprotected youth enjoy'd ; 
His limbs inur'd to early toil. 

His days with early hardships tried, 
And more to mark the gloomy void, 

And bid him feel his misery, 
Before his infant eyes would glide 

Day-dreams of inimortaii'Ly. 

Yet, not with cold neglect depress'd, 

W^ith sinewy arm lie turn'd the soil. 
Sunk with the evcniirg sun to rest, 

And met at morn his earliest smile. 
Wak'd by his rustic pipe, meanwhile 

The powers of fancy came along. 
And sooth'd his Icngthen'd Jiours of toil 

With native wit and sprightly song. 

.Ah I days of bliss, too swifily fled, 
When vigorous health from labour springa^ 

\nd bland contentment smooths the bed. 
And sleep his re:\dy opiate brings; 



Wui 

And hoverinp; round on airy wings 
Flout the light forms of young desire. 

That of unutterable things 

The soft and shadowy hope inspire. 

Now spells of mightier power prepare, 

Bid brighter phantoms round him dance ; 
Let flattery spread her viewless snare, 

And fame attract his vagrant glance ; 
Let sprightly pleasure too advance, 

Unveil'd her eyes, unclasp'd her zone, 
'Till lost in love's delirious trance, 

He scorn the joys his youth has knowa. 

Let friendship pour her brightest blaze, 

Expanding all the bloom of soul ; 
And mirth concenter all her rays, 

And point them from the sparkling bowl j 
And let the careless moments roll 

In social pleasures imconfin'd, 
And confidence that spurns controul 

Unlock the inmost springs of mind. 

And lead his steps those bowers among, 

Where elegance with splendour vies, 
Or science bids her favour'd throng 

To more refin'd sensations rise : 
Beyond the peasant's humbler joys. 

And freed from each laborious strife. 
There let him learn the bliss to prize 

That waits the sons of polish'd life. 

Then whilst his throbbing veins beat high 

With every impulse of delight. 
Dash from his lips the cup of joy. 

And shroud the scene in shades of night ; 
And let despair with wizard light, 

Disclose the yawning gulph below, 
And pour incessant on his sight 

Her specterM ills and shapes of woe : 



lix 

And shew beneath a cheerless shed, 

With sorrowing heart and streaming eyeS; 
In silent grief where droops her head. 

The partner of his early joys ; 
And let his infants' tender cries 

His fond parental succour claim, 
And bid him hear in agonies 

A husband's and a father's name. 

'Tis done, the powerful charm succeeds ; 

His high reluctant spirit bends ; 
In bitterness of soul he bleeds. 

Nor longer with his fate contends. 
An ideot laugh the welkin rends 

As genius thus degraded lies ; 
"'Till pitying heaven the veil extends 

That shrouds the Poet's ardent eyes, 

....Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 

Thy shelter'd vallies proudly spread, 
And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills. 

And wave thy h#aths with blossoms red ; 
But never more shall Poet tread 

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign. 
Since he, the sweetest bard is dead 

That ever breath'd the soothing strain. 



THE 

COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT, 

INSCRIBED TO R. A****, ESq. 



I^t not Ambition mock their useful toil. 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile. 
The short and simple annals of the Poor. 



CRAY. 



MY lov'd, my honored, much respected friend ! 

No mercenary Bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise ; 
To you I sin^, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's seouesterM scene ; 
The native feelini^s strong, the guileless ways, 

What A**** in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah I tho* his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween ! 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; 

1 he short*ning winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 

The black*ning trains o* craws to their repose : 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 

This night his weekly moil is at an end. 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
.\nd weary, o*er the moor, his course does homeward 
bend. 

B 



2 THE POETICAL WORKS OF' 

At length his lonely Cot appears in view, 

Beneath tl.e shelter of an ai^ed tree; 
Th' expectant wee-things^ toddlin, stacher throU£]:h 

To meet their Dad, \vi' flichterin noise and giee. 
His wee-bit ingle, blinkin bonilie. 

His clean hearth-stane, his ihriity M'rfie's smile, 
The lisping infant, prattling on his knee, 

Does a* his weary kiuiigh and care beguile, 
And makes him quiie forget his labor and his toil. 

Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, 

At service out, amang the Farmers* roun' ; 
Some ca* the plcugh, some herd, some tentie rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor towri: 
Their eldest hope, their Jenmj, woman grown. 

In youthfu' bloom. Love sparkling in her e'e. 
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a biaw new gown, 

Or deposite her fair-won penny-fee. 
To help her Parents dear, if they in hardship bCp 

With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet. 

And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : 
The social hours, switt-wing'd, urnotic'd fleet ; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears. 
The Parents, partial, eye tfieir hopeful years; 

Anticipation forward points the view ; 
The Mother^ wi' her needle and her shears. 

Gars auid claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The Father mixes a* wi* admonition due. 

Their Master's and their Mistress's command, 

1 he youngkers a' are warned to obey ; 
And mind their labors wi' an eydent hand, 

And ne'er, tho' out o* sight, to jauk or play ; 
' And O 1 be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

' And minti your duty^ duly, morn and night ! 
< Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 

' Implore his counsel and assisting might : 
' They never sought in vain that sought the Lord 
' aright.* 



ROBERT BURNS. S 

But hark I a rap comes gently to the door ; 

Jennijn, wha kens the meaning; o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious fl^me 

Sparkle in Jcnnifs e'e, and iiush her cheek, 
With heart-struck, anxious care, en quires his name, 

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
We el pleas'd the Mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless 
Rake. 

With kindly welcome, Jenny brings him hen ; 

A strappan youth ; he takes the Mother's eye ; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no i!l taen ; 

The Father cracks of horses, pleui^jhs, and kyc. 
The Youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 

Bui blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave; 
The Mother, wi* a woman's wiles can spy 

What makes the Youth sae bashfu' and sae grave; 
Weel pleas'd to think her dairn*s respected like the lave. 

O happy love ! where love like this is found I 
O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare I 

I've paced much this weary, mortal rounds 

And sage Experience bids me this declare 

* If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 
' One cordial in this melancholy Vale, 

< 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 

^ In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale, 

< Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning 

* gale.* 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 

A Wretch ! a Villain ! lost to love and truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. 

Betray sweet Jemn/s unsuspecting youth ? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts 1 dissembling smooth i 

Are Honor, Virtue, Conscience all exii'd ? 
Is there no Pity, no relentiuii; Ruth, 

Points to the Parents fondling o'er their child ? 
Then paints the ruin'd Maid, and their distraction wilO. 



4 THE POETICAL WORKS 01' 

But now the supper crowns their simple board, 

^ The healsome Parritch, chief of Scotia'a food : 
The boupe their only Haivkie does afford, 

That *yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : 
The Dame brings forth, in complimental mood, 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell, 
And aft he*s prest, and aft he ca's it guid; 

The frugal Wifie, garrulous, will tell. 
How *twas a towmond auld, 'sin Lint was i* the bell. 

The cheerfu' Supper done, wi' serious face, 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, 

The big ha-Bible^ ance his Father's pride : 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. 

His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
•= And let us nuorshifi God !' he says, with solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ; 
Or noble J'llgin beets the heav'n-ward flame, 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Co par'd with these, Italian trills' are tame ; 

The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise ; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator*s praise. 

The priest-like Father reads the sacred page. 

How jibra?n was the friend of God on high ; 
Or, Mosea bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amali'k's ungracious progeny : 
Or how the royal Bard did groaning lye 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or Joh\ pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or rapt Isaiah" s wild seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy Seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian Volume is the theme, 
How guiltless blood for guilty men was shed ; 



ROBERT BURNS. S 

How He) who bore in Heav*n the second name, 
Had not on Earth whereon to lay His head : 

How His first followers and servants sped ; 
The Precepts sage they wrote to many a land ; 

How A(?, who lone in Patmos banished, 
Saw in the Sun a mighty angel stand ; 

And heard great Bah'lorCs doom pronounc'd by Heav'n's 
command. 

Then kneeling down to Heaven's Etehnal King, 

The Saint ^ the Father ^ and the Husband^ prays : 
Hope ' springs exulting on triumphant wing*, 

That thus they all shall meet hi future days : 
There, ever bask in imcreated rays. 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear. 
Together hymning their Creator'* s praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, 

In all the pomp of method, and of art. 
When men display to congregations wide. 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart I 
The FoivW) incens'd, the Pageant vv'ill desert. 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stele ; 
But haply, in some Cottage far apart, 

M^iy hear, well-pleas'd, the language of the Soul j 
And in His Book of Life the Inmates poor enroll. 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; 

The youngling Cottagers retire to rest : 
The Parent-pair their secret homage pay. 

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request^ 
That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 
Would, in the way His Wisdom sees the best, 

For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with Grace divine preside » 

From scenes like these, o\di Scotia* s grandeur springs^ 
That mukes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 

* Pope's Windsor Forest. 

B % 



5 THE POETICAL WORKS O? 

Princes and Lords are but the breath of Kings, 
' An honest man's the noblest work of God :' 

And cerfes, in fair Virtue's heavenly ro.id, 
The Cottcg-e leaves the Palace far behind : 

What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load, 
Cisi^uising oft the wretch of human kind, 

Studied in arts of Hell, in wickedness refin'd ! 

O Scotia I my dear, my native ^oil 1 

For whom my Witri est wish to Heav'n is sent 1 
Lonpj may thy hardy sons of rustic toil. 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content I 
And, O ! may Heav'n their simple lives prevent 

From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous pofiulace may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their much lov'd Me. 

O Thou I who pour'd the patriotic tide, 

That stream'd thro' Wallace^s undaunted heart ; 
Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride, 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part; 
(The Patriot's God^ peculiarly thou art. 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward I) 
O never, never Scotia* a realm desert ; 

But still the Patriot and the Patriot-Bard^ 
Ir* bright succession raise, her Ornament and Guard ! 



I^LIN WAS IVIADE TO MOURN, 

A DIRGE. 

WHF.N chill November's surly blast 

Made fi-.-lds and forests bare. 
One ev'i.iiig, as 1 wand'red forth 

Along the btnks of ^</r, 
I spy'd a man, whose aged step 

Seeni'd weary, worn with care ; 
His fcico was furrow'd o'er with years. 

And hoary wus his hair. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou ? 

Began the rev'rend Sage ; 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 

Or youthful Pleasure's rage ? 
Or haply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began, 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of Man. 

The Sun that overhangs yon moors. 

Out-spreading far and wide. 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride : 
I've seen yon weary winter-sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs, 

That Man was made to mourn. 



O Man ! while in thy early years. 

How prodigal of time ! 
Mis-spending all thy precious hoursj 

Thy glorious, youthful prime ! 
Alternate Follies take the sway ; 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force gives Nature's law. 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or Manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Sufifiorted is his right : 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With Cares and Sorrows worn. 
Then Age and Want, Oh ! ill match'd pair I 

Show Man was made to mourn. 

A few seem favorites of Fate, 

In pleasures lap carest ; 
Yet, think not all the Rich and Great 
f Are likewise truly blest. 
But, Oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land. 

All wretched and forlorn, 



8 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Thro* weary life this lesson learn, 
That Man was made to mourn. 

Many and sharp the numerous Ills 

Inwoven with our frame I 
More pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, Remorse, and Shame ! 
And Man, whose heav*n-erected face. 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to Man 

Makes countless thousands mourn 1 

See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile. 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil; 
And see his lordly /c/Zow-wor;?:, 

The poor Petition spurn. 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

If I'm design'd yon loi-dling's slave, 

By nature's law design'd, 
"Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelly, or scorn ? 
Or why has Man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn? 

Yet, let not this too much, my Son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast : 
This partial view of human-kind 

Is surely not the last I 
The poor, oppressed, honest man 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn ! 

O Death ! the poor man's dearest friend. 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour, my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 

The Great, the Wealthy fear thy blow, 
From pomp and pleasure torn ; 

But, Oh ! a blest relief for those 
That weary-laden mourn ! 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 

On turning one down, with a plough, in April 1786. 

WEE, modest, crimson -tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee novv is past my pow*r, 

Thou bonie gem. 

Alas ! its no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonie Lark^ companion meet ! 
Bending thee *mang the dewy weet I 

Wi* spreckl'd breast. 
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 

The purpling East. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting North 
Upon thy early, huisble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm. 
Scarce rear*d above the Parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our Gardens yield, 
High sheit'ring woods and wa's maun shield j 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane, 
Adorns the hislie stibble-Jield^ 
Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread. 



10 THE POETICAL WORKS 01- 

Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 

But now the share uptears thy bed, 
And low tliou lies 1 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweet 7?07y'7Vif of the rural shade ! 
By Love*s simplicity betrtiy'd, 

And guileless trust. 
Till she, like thee, all soii'd, is laid 

Low i* the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 
On Life's rough ocean luckless starr'd I 
Unskilful he to note the card 

Of Prudent Lorcy 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er! 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv*n, 
Who long with wants and woes hi.s striven, 
By human pride or cunning driv*h 

To Mis'ry's brink. 
Till wrench'd of every stay but Heaven, 

He, ruin'd, sink I 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate^ 
That fate is thine — no distant date; 
Stern Ruin's /^/owgA-iAar*? drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom, 
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight, 

Shall be thy doom ! 



THE FIRST SIX VERSES 

OF THE NINETIETH PSALM. 

O THOU, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race! 
Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling-place ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 11 



Before the mountains heav'd their heads 

Beneath Thy forming hand, 
Before this pond'rous globe itself 

Arose iit Thy command : 

That pow'r which rnis*d and still upholds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vdst, 
Appear no more before T'.y sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word ; Thy creature, man, 

Js to existence brought ; 
Again Thou say'st, ' Ye sons of men, 

< Return ye into nought I' 

Thou layest them with all their cares 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As witli a flood Thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flow'r 

In beauty's pride array'd ; 
But long ere night cut down it lies 

All wither'd and decay'd. 



THE TWA DOGS. 

A TALE. 

'TWAS in that place o' Scotland's isle, 
That beurs the name o' j^idd King' Cuily 
Upon a bonie day in June, 
When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
Twa Dogs, that were na thrang at hame, 
Forguther'd ance upon a ti^i.e. 



12 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The first I'll name, they ca*d him Casar^ 
Was keepit for his Honor's pleasure ; 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Shew'd he was nane o* Scotland's dogs, 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Whare sailors gang to fish for Cod. 

His locked, lettered, braw brass collar 
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar j 
But tho' he was o' high degree. 
The fient a pride nu pride had he, 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev*n wi* a tinkler-gipsey's messin : 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tauted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, 
But he wad stan't, as. glad to see him. 
An' stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi* him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A rhyming, ranting, raving biliie, 
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him. 
And in his freaks had Luuth ca'd him. 
After some dog in Highland sang*. 
Was made lang syne, — Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash an* faithfu' tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place : 
His breast was white, his towzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black; 
His gaucie tail, wi* upward curl. 
Hung owre his hurdics wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
An* unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd an' snowkit ; 
Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit j 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
An' worry'd ither in diversion ; 

* CuchulUn's dog in Ossian's Fingal. 



ROBERT BITRNS. 13 

Till tir'd at last wi* mony a farce, 
They sat them down upon their a—, 
An' there began a lang digression 
About the lords o* the creation. 

C^SAR. 

I're aften wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have j 
An* when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava. 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, an' a' his stents : 
He rises when he likes himsel ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell ; 
He ca's his coach ; he ca's his horse ; '^ 

He draws a bonie silken purse 
As lang's my vail, whare, thro' the steeksj 
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toilingj 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An* tho* the gently first are stechin, 
Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, an* sic like trashrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee, blastit wonner, 
Poor, worthless elf, it eats a dinner, 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honor has in a* the Ian* : 
An* what poor cot-folk pit their painch inp 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

LUATH. 

Trowth, Caesar, why'les they're fash't enough ^ 
A cotter howkin in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, 
Baring a quarry, an' sic like, 
'Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smvrtie o* wee duddie weans> 

C 



14 THK FOBTIGAL WORKS 01 

An' nought but his han* darg, to keep 
Them right an' tiglrt in thack an' rape. 

An* when they meet vvi' sair disasters, 
Lfike loss o' health or want o' masters, 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch Linger, 
An' they maun. starve o' cauld an' hunger; 
B«Jt how it comes, I never kend yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

CiE.SAR, 

But then, to see how ye're negleckit, 
How hufF'd, an' cuff 'd, an' disrespeckit i 
L — d,.man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle ; 
They gang as saucy by poor folk, 
As I wad by a stinking brock. 

I've notic'd, on our Laird's court day, 
An' j.iony a time my heart's been wae, 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash. 
How they maun thole a factor's snash ; 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an* swear. 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; 
While they maun stan', vvi* aspect hnmbic. 
An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble ! 

I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches ! 

LUATH. 

They're no sae wretched's anc wad think ; 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink, 
They're sae accusioui'd wi' the sight, 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance and fortune are sae guided. 
They're ay in less or mair provided ; 



BOBERT BURNS. 1^^ 



An' tho' fatigu'd wi* dose employment, 
A blink o* rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives ; 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sv*reetens a' their fire-side. 

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the Kirk and state affairs ; 
They'll talk o' patronage an' priests, 
Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts, 
Or tell what new taxation's comin, 
An' ferlie at the folk in London. 

As blenk-fac'd Hallowmas returns, 
They get the jovial, ranting Kirns, 
When rural life^ of ev'ry station, 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks. Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty wins ; 
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill, 
Are handed round wi' right guid will ; 
The cantie auld folks crackin crouse, 
The young anes ranting thro' the house- 
My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd ; 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk, 
Are riven out baith root an' branch. 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench. 



16 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Wha t^inks to knit himsel the faster 
I;j tavour wi' some gentle Master, 
V* ha L)!ins throng a parliamentin, 
For Lritidn's i^uid his saul indentin 

e^SAR. 



Haith, lad, ye little ken about it j 
J*'o7^ Britain*s guid I guid faith ! I doubt it. 
Say rather, gaun as Premievfi lead him, 
An' saying aye or no^s they bid him : 
At Operas an' Plays parading, 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading : 
Or may be, in a froiic daft, 
To Hague or Calais taks a waft, 
To mak a tour an' tak a whirl. 
To learn ban ton an' see the worl*. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles^ 
He rivt-s his father's auld entdils ; 
Oi- by Madrid he taks the rout. 
To thnmi guittars an' fecht wi' nowt ; 
Or down Italian Vista startles, 
Wh-re hunting amang groves o' myrtles : 
Then bouses drunilie German water. 
To mak hmi sel* look fair and fatter. 
An' clear fne consequential sorrows, 
Love gilts of Carnival Signioras. 

For Britain's guid I for her destruction ! 
Wi' dissipation, feu<i an' faction ! 

LUATH. 

Hcch mar: I dear sirs ! is that the gat? 
They waste sae raony a braw estate ! 
Are we sae foughten and harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last] 

O would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themsels >vi' countra sports^ 



ROBERT BURNS. IT 

It wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter ! 
For thae frank, rantin, rambiin billies, 
Fient haet o' them 's ill hearted fellows j 
Except for breakin o' their timmer, 
Or speakin lightly o' their Limmer, 
Or shooting o' a hare or moorcock, 
The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk. 

But will ye tell me, master Ccesar, 
Sure great folk's life's a. life o' pleasure ? 
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them. 

C^SAR. 

L — d, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, 
The genties ye wad ne'er envy 'cm. 

It's true they need na starve or sweat. 
Thro' Winter's cauld, or Simmer's heat; 
They've na sair wark to craze their banes. 
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes ; 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools. 
That when nae real ills perplex them, ^Mk 

They make enow themsels to vex them, ^^ 

An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, 
In like proportion, less will hurt them. 

A country fellow at the pleugh, 
His acre's till'd, he's right eneugh j 
A country girl at her wheel, 
Her dizzen's done, she's unco weel : 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy; 
Tho' deil haet ails them, \et uneasy ; 
Their days, insipid dull an' tasteless, 
Their nights, unquiet, lang, and restless 
C 2 



18 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

An' ev'n their sports, their balls an' races, 
Their galloping thro' public places. 
There's sic parade, sic pomp an' art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 

The Men cast out in party matches, 
Then sowther a' in deep debauches. 
Ae night, they're mad wi' drhik an' wh-ring 
Niest day their life is past enduring. 

The ladies arm-in-arm in clusters. 
As great an' gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. 
They're fc' run deils an' jads thegither. 
Whyles, owre the wee bit ci,ip an' platie, 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
Or lee-)ang nights, wi' crabbit Icuks, 
Pore o^^ re the devil's piciur'd beuks, 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
An' cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exceptions, man an' woman 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o* sight. 
An' darker gloaniin brought the night : 
The buv^^Jck hummM wi' lazy drone, 
The kye s*t:ood rowtin i' the loan ; 
When up they gat an' shook their Kigs^ 
Rcjoic'd they were na men,, but doga ; 
An' each took aft* his several way, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 



ROBERT RURNS. 19 



SCOTCH DRINK. 

Oie him strong drink until he wink. 

That's sinking- in despair ; 
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, 

That's prest wi* grief an' care : 
There let him bouse an' deep carouse^ 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er. 
Till he forgets his loves or debtSt 

An' minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's Puov. xxxi. 6, 7. 

LET other Poets raise a fracas, 

'Bout vines, an 'wines, an' druken Bacchus^ 

An' crabbit names an' stories wiwck us, 

An' grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scotch beer can mak us. 

In glass or jug. 

O thou, my Muse ! guid auld Scotch Drink I 
Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink, 
Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink, 

In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink, 

To sing thy name ! 

Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn, 
An' Aits set up their awnie horn, ^ili 

An' Pease and Beans, at e'en or morn, ~ 

Perfume the plain, 
Lceze me on thee, John Barleycorn^ 

Thou king o' grain 1 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood. 
In soupie scones, the wale o' food ! 
Oi tumbling in the boiling flood, 

Wi' kuil cin' beef; 
But when thou pours ttiy strong heart* blood, 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin ; 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
When heavy-drag'd wi' pine an' grievinj 
But oil'd by thee, 



20 THE POETICAL AVORKS OF 

The wheels o* life gae down-hill, scrievin, 
Wi* rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o* doited Lear ; 
Thou chears the heart o* drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labor sair, 

At*s weary toil ; 
Thou even brightens dark Despair, 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft, clad in massy siller weed, 
Wi' Gentles thou erects thy head ; 
Yet humbly kind, in time o' need. 

The poor man's wine ; 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread. 

Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 
But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? 
Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspired, 
When gaping they besiege the tents^ 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in I 
Or I'^ciph on a New -year mornin, 

In cog or bicker. 
An' just a wee drap sp*ritual burn in. 

An' gusty sucker I 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An* Ploughmen gather wi' their graith, 
O rare 1 lo see thee fizz an' freath, 

r th' lugget caup 
Then Burneivin comes on like Death 

At ev'ry chap. 

Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel ; 
The biawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel 
Brings hiird owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 

The strong ibrehammer- 



ROBERT BURNS. 21 



Till block an' studdie ring an' reel 

VVi' diiisome clamour. 

When skirlin weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumbling Cuifs their Dearies slight, 

Wa.e worth the name I 
Niie Howdie gets a social night. 

Or plack frae them. 

When neebors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud as wud can be, 
How easy can the barley-brie 

Cement the quarrel 1 
It's aye the cheapest Lawyer's fee 

To uisie ihe barrel. 

Alake I that e'er my muse has reason, 
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason 1 
But monie daily wet their weason 

Wi' liquors nice, 
An* hardly, in a winter season. 

E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that brandy^ burning trashi 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash 1 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, druken hash 

O' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland'n cash 

To her warst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well, 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, 
Poor, plackless devils like mysel, 
It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, 
Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench. 
An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 
O' sour disdain, 



22 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Out owre a glass o* Whisky Pumh 

Wi' honest men ! 

O Whiaky ! soul o* plays an' pranks 1 
Accept a Bardie's t^ratefu' thanks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 

Are ray poor Verses I 
Thou comes they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's a ! 

Thee Ferintosh ! O sadly lost ! 
Scotland lament frae coast to coast 1 
!Now colic grips, an* bar kin ho^tSt, 

May kill us a' ; 
Por loyal Forbes' charter'd boast 

Is ta'en awa ! 

Thae curst horse-leeches o* th' Excise, 
Wha mak the nvhiskey stells their prize ! 
Hand up thy hau' Deil i ance, twice, thrice I 

1 here, seize the blinkers ! 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies 

For poor d — n'd drinkers. 

Fortune, if thou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an' nvhisky gilly 
An' ro#th o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak a' the rest, 
An' deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs thee best 



TO A MOUSE. 

On turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 17&3\ 

WEE, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! * 

Thou need na start awa sae hastf, 

Wi* bickering brattle ! 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring fiattle ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 

I'm truly sorry Man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An* justifies that ill opinion, 

Which makes thee startle, 
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion. 
An* felloiv-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; 
What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ! 
A daimen-icker in a thrave 

'S a sma' request: 
I'll get a blessin wi* the lave 

An' never miss't ! 

Thy wee-bit housie^ too, in ruin ! 
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin I 
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O' foggage green I 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 

Baith snell an' keen i 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
An' weary Winter comin fast, 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast. 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till crash the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble. 
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hald, 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble. 

An' cranreuch cauld 1 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving foresight may be vain : 
The best-laid schemes o' Mic€ an' Men, 

* Gang aft a-gley, 

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pdn, 
For promis'd joy ? 



24 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Still thou art blest, compar*d vvi' me ! 
The present only toucheth thee j 
But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear I 
An* forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess diW* fear ! 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

A POEM. 

INSCllIBED TO J. B*********, ESQ. AYR. 

THE simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, 

Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough 9 

The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn busli. 

The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 

Ordeep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill; 

Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed, 

To hardy Independence bravely bred, 

By early Poverty to hardship steel'd, 

And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field, 

Sh.ill he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 

The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes^ 

Or labour hard the panegyric close, 

With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose? 

No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 

And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 

He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 

Fame, honest Fame, his great, his dear reward. 

Siill, if some Patron's gen'rous care he trace, 

Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 

When B********* befriends his humble name, 

And hands the rustic Stranger up to fame, ff 

With heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells, 

The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



liOBERT BURNS. 25 



'Tvvas when the stacks get on their winter hap, 
And thack and rape secure the toil -won crap ; 
Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breatn ; 
The Bees, rejoicing o'er^their Summer-toils, 
Unnumber'd buds an' flow'rs' delicious spoils, 
Seai'd up with frugal care in missive, waxen piles, 
Are doom'd by Man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brimstone reek : 
The thund'ring guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feather'd field mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What wann, poetic heart but inly bleeds. 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds!) 
Nae mair the flo .v'r in field or meadow springs j 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings. 
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree : 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days, 
Mild, calm, serene, wide-spreads the noon-tide blaze 
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the ray 

'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, 

Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 

Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr, 

By whim inspired, or haply prest wi' care, 

He left his bed, and took his wayward rout, 

And down by Sim/ison's*' wheePd the left about; 

(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate ; 

Or whether, rapt in meditation high, 

He wander'd out he knew not where nor why.) 

The drowsy Dungeon-docki had number'd two, 

And Waliace''Tow*r\ had sworn the fact was true : 

The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen-sounding roar, 

Through the still night daahM hoarse along the shore 

All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e*e I 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree ; 

* A noted tavern, at the ^tild Brig- end, 

. t The two steepkB. 

D 



} 



se, t 



26 THE POETICAL WORKS Oi 

The chilly Frost, beneath the silver beam, 
Crept, gently-crusting, o*er the glittering stream.- 

When, lo I on either hand the list'ning Bard, 

The clanging sui^h of whistling wings is heard j 

Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 

Swift as the Gos* drives on the wheeling hare; 

Ane on th' ^uld Brig his airy shape uprears, 

The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 

Our Warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 

The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Axjr preside. 

(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke. 

And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk ; 

Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a% they can explain them. 

An' ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 

Auld Brig appear'»d of ancient Pictish race, 

The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 

He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, 

Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. 

Nenv Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, 

That he, at Lon'on^ frae ane Adams^ got ; 

In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 

Wi' virls an' whirlygigums at the head. 

The Goth was stalking round with anxious search, 

Spying the timc-woin flaws in ev'ry arch ; 

It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e. 

And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 

Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien. 

He, down the water, gies him this guideen— 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na, frien', ye'U think ye're na sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith, that date, I doubt, ye'U never see ; 
There'll be, if that day come, I'll wad a boddle, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 

* The gos-hawk, or falcon. 



ROEEIIT BURNS. 27 

NEW BRIG. 

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mensc. 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-p^th of a street, 
Where twa wheelbarrows tremble when they meetj 
Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime, 
Compare wi' bonie Brigs o» modern time ? 
There's men o' taste wou'd tak the Diicat-stream*^ 
Tho' they should cast the vera sark an' swim, 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! puff'd up wi' windy pride ! 

Tliis mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide j 

And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, 

I'll be a Brig when ye're a shapeless cairn ! 

As yet ye little ken about the matter, 

But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 

When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 

Wi' deepening deluges overflow the plains; 

When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil^ 

Or stately Lugar*^ mobsy fountains boil. 

Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, 

Or haunted Garfial] draws his feeble source, 

Arous'd by blustering winds an' spotting thowes, 

In mony a torrent down the snaw-broo rowes ; 

While crashing ice, borne on the roaring spcat. 

Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; 

And from Glenbuck\^ down to Ratton-key^^ 

Auld Aijr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea ; 

Then down ye'il hurl, deil nor ye never rise ! 

And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies, 

A lesson sadly teaching,' to your cost. 

That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 

* A noted ford, just ubove the Auld Brig, 
f The Banks of Garpal-JVater is one of the few places in the 
West of Scotland where those funcy-scanng beings, known by the 
name of Ghaists, still continue pertinaciously to inhabit. 
± The source of the river of Ayr. 
I § A small landing'-place above the large key. 



• I 

ea. J 



28 THE POETICAL WOBKS OJ^ 

NEW BRIG. 

Fine arckitcchire, trowth, I needs must say't oH ' 
The L — d be thankit that we've lint the gate o't 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alhiring edifices, 
Hanging, with threatening jut, like precipices j 
O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roals, fantastic, stony groves : 
Windows and doors in nameless sculptures drest 
W ith order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; 
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee 
And siiil the second dread co'mmand be free, 
Tneir likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building-taste 
Of any mason, reptile, bird, or beast; 
Fit only for a doited Monkish race. 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, 
Or Cuifs of later times, wha held the notion, 
Thttt sullen gloom was sterling true devotion : 
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection, 
^ud soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection 1 

AULD BRIG. 

O ye, my dear-rememberM, ancient yealings, 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings I 
Ye worthy Proveses^ an' mony a Bailie^ 
Wha^in the paths o'righteousness did toil ay ; 
Ye dainty Deacons., an' ye douce Conveeners, 
To whom our m.oderns are but causey-cleaners : 
Ye godly Councils., wha hae blest this town ; 
Ye godly Brethren o' the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gae your hurdles to the siniters ; 
And (what would now be strange) ye godly IVriiers : 
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo, 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation. 
To see each melancholy alteration ; 
And, agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base, degen'ratc race 1 



ROBERT BURNS. tli 

Nae lauger Rev'rend Men, their country's glory, 
In plain, braid Scots, hold forth a plain, braid story ; 
Nae langer thrifty citizens, an' douce, 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; 
But staumrel, eorky-headed, graceless Gentry, 
The herryment and ruin of the country ; 
Men, three-parts made by Taylors and by Barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hainM gear on d— -d neiv Brig. 
and Harbours! 

J NEW BRIG. 

Now haud you there I for faith ye've said eneiigh. 

And muckle mair than ye can mak to through. 

As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, 

Corbies and Ciergij are a shot right kittle ; 

But, under favour o' your langer beard, 

Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd ; 

To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 

I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 

In Jyr^ Wag-wits nae mair can have a handle 

To mouth < A Citizen,' a term o' scandal : 

Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 

In all the pomp of ignorant conceit : 

Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops an' raisins. 

Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. 

If haply Knowledge, on a random trair.p, 

Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp. 

And would to Common-sense for once betray'd th^ihp 

Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them* 



What farther clishmaclaver might been said, 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed,. 
No man can tell ; but, all before their sight, 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd ; 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd ? 
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat. 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet i 
D 3 



30 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 

O had M^Lauchlan*^ thairm-inspiring Sage, 
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage. 
When thro' his dear Strathsfieys they bore with High 

land rage ; 

Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd, 
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspired I 
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
Hf^rmonious concert rung in evVy part, 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 

A venerable Chief advanc'd in years ; 

His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd. 

His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 

Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring. 

Sweet Female Beauty, hand in hand with Spring ; 

Then, crownM with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, 

And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye : 

All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, 

Led yellow Autumn, wreathM with nodding corn; 

Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, 

By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 

Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride. 

From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide : 

Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 

A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair: 

Learning and Worth in equal measures trode, 

From Simple Catrine^ their long-lov'd abode : 

Last, white-robM Peace, crown'd with a hazle wreath, 

To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 

The broken, iron instruments of Death, 

At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. 



* A well known performer of Scottish music on the violin. 



ttOBERT BURNS. 31 

DESPONDENCY. 

AN ODE. 

OPPRESSED with grief, oppress'd with care, 

A burden more than I can bear, ' • 

I set me down and sigh : 
O life ! thou art a galling load, 
Along a rough, a weary road, 

To wretches such as I I 
Dim-backward as I cast my view, 
What sick'ning Scenes appear ! 
What Sorrows yet may pierce me thro', 
Too justly I may fear ! 
Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 
My woes here shaU close ne'er. 
But with the closing tomb ! 

Happy ! ye sons of Busy-life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd, 
Yei while the busy means are ply'd, 

They bring their own reward ; 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, 

Unfitted with an aim^ 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night, 
And joyless morn the same. 
You, bustling and justling, 

Forget each grief and pain ; 
I listless, yet restless, 
Find ev'ry prospect vain. 

How blest the Solitary's lot, 
W'ho, all- forgetting, all-forgot, 

Within his humble cell. 
The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
Sits o*er his newly-gather'd fruits, 

Beside his chrystal well 1 
Or haply, to his ev'ning thoughtj 

By unfrequented stream, 



32 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint-collected dream : 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to Heav'n on high. 
As wandering, meand'ring, 
He views the solemn sky. 

Than I, no lonely Hermit plac'd, 
Where never human footstep trac'd, 

Less fit to play the part, 
The lucky moment to improve, 
And just to stop, and just to move, 

With self-respecting art : 
But ah ! those pleasures, Loves and Joys, 

Which I too keenly taste. 
The Solid. rtj can despise, 
Can want, and yet be blest 1 
He needs not, he heeds not, 

Or human love or hate ; 
Whilst I here, must cry here^ 
At perfidy ingrate ! 

Oh 1 enviable, early days, 

When dancing thoughtless Pleasure's maze 

To Care, to Guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchanged for riper times, 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves, that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush. 
Ye little know the ills ye court. 
When Manhood is your wish I 
The losses, the crosses. 

That active Man engage ; 
The fears all, the tears all, 
Of dim declining Jge I 



a<i)BERT EITRNS. 33 

ADDP.ESS 

TO 

THE UNCO GUID, 

OR 

IHE RIGIBLY RIGHTEOUS. 

My Son, these maxims make a rule, 

And lump them ay thegither ; 
The Riffid RighteoHs is a lool. 

The Rigid Wise anither : 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 

May hae some pyies o' caff in ; 
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 

For random fits o' dafiin. 

Solomon— Eccles. vii. 16> 

O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
YeVe nought to do but aiark and tell 

Your Neebours' fauts and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supply'd wi' store o' water. 
The heaped happer's ebbing still, 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable Core, 

As counsel for poor mortals. 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door 

For glaikit Folly's portals ; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 

Would here propone defences, 
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes. 

Their failings and mischances. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd, 

And shudder at the niffer. 
But, cast a moment's fair regard 

What maks tbe mighty differ; 
Discount what scant occasion gave, 

That purity ye pride in, 



34 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 
Your better art o' hiding. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop, 
What ragings must his veins convulse. 

That sliil eternal gallop: 
\Vi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea way ; 
But, in the teeth o* baith to sail, 

It maks an unco leeway. 

See Social-life and Glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking, 
Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown 

Deb.iuchery and Drinking: 
O would they stay to calculate 

Th' eternal consequences ; 
Or your more dreaded h-11 to state, 

D-mnation of expenses! 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous Dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces. 
Before ye gie poor Frailty names, 

Suppose a change o* cases ; 
A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination 

But, let n.e wiiisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 

Then gently scan your brother Man, 

Still gentler sister Woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, 

To step aside is human ; 
One point must still be greatly dark. 

The moving Vlhy they do it ; 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us. 
He knows each chord its various tone, 

Each spring its various bias : 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's done we partly may compute. 

But know not what's resisted. 



THE VISIO]\. 

DUAN FIRST.* 

THE sun had clos'd the winter-day, 
The Curlers quat their roaring p'^y? 
An* hunger'd Maukin taen her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whare she has been. 

The Thresher's \fec\vy Jlingcn-tree, 
The lee-lang day had tired me; 
And when the Day had clos'd his e'e 

Far i' the West, 
Ben i' the S/ience, right pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I s it and ey'd the spewing reek, 
That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, 

The auld, clay biggin ; 
And heard the restless rattons squeak 
About the riggin. 

All in this mottie, misty clime, 
I backward mus'd on wasted time. 
How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 

An' done naething. 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme 

For fools to sing. 

* Dttan, a term of Ossian's for the dlfTerent divisions of a di- 
gressive poem. Seejiis Cath-Loda, vol. U. of M'Fherson's Trans- 
iation. 



36 THE POETICAL ^VORKS OF 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I r.iiijbt, by this, hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a Bank and cU\rkit 

My cash account : 
While here, hulf-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit 
Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead ! coof ! 
And heav*d on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aith, 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme fir oof 
Till my lust breath — 

When click ! the string the sneck did draw 
AiKl jee 1 the door gaed to the wa' ; 
And by my ingle-lowe I saw, 

Now bieezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie^ braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht; 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht ; 
I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht 

In some wild glen : 
When sweet, like modest Worth, she blushlf 

And stepped ben. 

Green, slender, leaf-clad Holly-boughs 
Were twisted, gracefu' round her brows, 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token ; 
And come to stop those reckless vows, 

Would soon be broken ^ 

A * hair-brain'd, sentimental trace* 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with Honon 



ROBERT BURNS, 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheenj 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonie Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

Her Mantle large, of greenish hue, 

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades^ bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand : 
And seem'd, to my astonishM view, 

A ive II' known Land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost: 
Hci'e, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, 

The lordly dome. 

Here, Boon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods ; 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds: 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds. 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 
'An ancient Borough rear'd her head ; 
Still, as in Scottish story read, 

She boasts a Race, 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred. 

And polish'd grace. 

By stately tow^', or palace fair. 
Or ruins pendant in the air, 
Bold stems of Heroes, here and there, 

I could discern, 
Some seem'd to muse, son.e seem'd to dare, 
With feature stern. 
E 



38 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

• My heart did glowing transport feel, 
To see a Race * heroic wheel, 
And brandish round the deep-dy*d steel 

In sturdy bloAvs ; 
While back-recoiling seem*d to reel 

Their Southern foes. 

His Country's Saviour!, mark him well I 
Bold Ri char (It 071* 8 4: heroic swell; 
The Chief on Sark^ who glorious fell, 

In high command; 
And He whom ruthless Fates expel 

His native lund. 

There, where a sceptr'd Pictish ** shade 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial Race, pourtray'd 

In colours strong; 
Bold, soldier-featur*d, undismay'd 

They strode along. 

It Thro' many a wild, romantic grove, 
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, 
(Fit Haunts for Friendship or for Love, 

In musing mood) 
An aged Judge^ I saw hini rove. 

Dispensing good. 

* The Wallaces. 

I William Wallace. 

^ Adam Wallace of Rlchardton, cousin to the immortal pre- 
server of Scottish Independence. 

§ Wallace Laird of Craigie, who was second in commandundev 
Douglas earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sai k, 
fought ^nno 1448. That g-lorious victor) was pnncipally owing to 
the judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant Lairci of 
Cii;igie, who died of his wounds after the action. 

** Coilus king of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is 
said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the fa- 
mily seat of the Montgomeriesof Coils-field, where his burial-place 
is s'jU shown. 

ft Barskiniming, the seat of the Lord Justice Cierk. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

* With deep struck reverential awe. 
The learned Sh-e and Son I saw, 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore, 
This, all its source and end to draw, 
That, to adore. 

Brydon*s brave Ward 1 1 well could spy, 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by. 

To hand him on, 
Where many a Patriot-name on high 

And Hero shone. 



DUAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fair; 
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear 

Of kindred sweet, 
When with an elder Sister's air 

She did me greet, 

< All hail ! my own inspired Bard ! 

* In me thy native muse regard ! 

^ Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

' Thus poorly low ! 

* I come to give thee such reward 

* As we bestow. 

* Know, the great Ge7iius of this Land 
' Has many a light, aerial band, 

' Who, all beneath his high command, 

* Harmoniously, 

* As Arts or Arms they understand, 

' Their labours ply. 

* Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and present Professor 
Srewai't. 

t Colonel PuUarton, 



40 'f HE POETICAL WORKS OF 

< They Scotia^s Race amonji; them share ; 

* Some lire the Soldier on to dare ; 

* Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 

* Corruption's heart; 

< Some teach the Bard, a darling care, 

* The tuneful art. 

< 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 

* They ardent, kindling spirits pour; 

< Or, iiiid the venal Senate's roar, 

* They, sightless stand, 

* To mend the honest Pat riot -lore 

' And grace the hand. 



< And when the Bard, or hoary Sage, 
« Charm or instruct the future age, 

* 1 hey bind the wild, Poetic rage 

* In energy, 
« Or point the inconclusive page 

* Full on the eye. 

< Hence, Fullarton^ the brave and young ; 

< Hence, Z^fm/zs^e?-** zeal-inspired tongue; 

* Hence, sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

' His " Minstrel lays ;** 
^ Or tore, with noble ardour stung-, 

' The Sccptic*s bays. 

* To lower Orders are assigned 

< The humble ranks of Human-kind, 

* The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind, 

* The Artisbn ; 

* All chuse, as, various they're inclined, 

' The various man. 

* AVhen yellow waves the heavy grain, 

< The threiit'ning Storm, some, strongly, rein 

* Some teach to meliorate the plain, 

* With tillage-skill ; 

* And some instruct the Shepherd train, 

t Blythe o'er the hill. 



ROBERT BURNS. 41 

< Some hint the Lover's harmless wile ; 

< Some grace the Maiden's artless smile ; 

* Some soothe the Laborer's weary toil, 

' For humble gains, 

* And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

' His cares and pains. 

* Some, bounded to a district-space, 

* Explore at large Man's infant race, 
' To murk the embryotic trace 

< Of rustic Bard; 

' And careful note each op'ning grace, 

* A guide and guard. 

' Of these am T — Coila my name ; 
' And this district as mine I claim, 
' Where once the Camfibells^ chiefs of fame, 

* Held ruling pow'r : 
' I markVj thy embryo-tuneful flame, 

* Thy natal hour. 

« With future hope, I oft would gaze, 
« Fond, on thy little, early ways, 

* Thy rudely-caroll'd, chiming phrase, 

' In uncouth rhymes^ 
» Fir'd at the simple, artless lays 

* Of other times. 

* I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
» Delighted with the dashing roar; 

' Or when the North his fleecy store 

* Drove thro' the sky^ 

< I saw grim Nature's visage hoar, 

< Struck thy young eye> 

* Or when the deep green-mantl'd Earth> 

* Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, 

* And joy and music pouring forth, 

' In ev'ry grove, 

* I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 

* With boundless loyCv 

E % 



42 THE POETICAL WORKS GF 

* When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 

< Caird forth the Reaper's rustling noise, 

< I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

* And lonely stalk, 

* To vent thy bosom's swelling rise, 

< In pensive walk. 

* When youthful Love, warn^ -blushing, strong, 
' Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 

' Those accents, gratefinj to thy tongue, 

< Th* adored Mime, 

* I taught thee how to pour in song, 

* To soothe thy flame. 

< I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 

* Wild-send thee Pleasure's devious way, 

* Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray, 

* By passion driven ; 

* But yet the light that led astray, 

< Was light from Heaven. 

f * I taught thy manners-painting strains, 

* The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
' Till now, o'er all my wide domains, 

* Thy fame extends j 

* And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

* Become thy friends. 

* Thou canst not learn, nor I can show, 

" To paint with Thomson's landscape -glow ; 

* Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 

* W ith Shenstone^s art ; 

* Or pour, with Gray^ the moving flow, 

* Warm on the heart. 

< Yet, all beneath th' unrivall'd Rose, 

* The lowly Daisy sweetly blows ; 

* Tho' large, the forest's Monarch throws 

' His army shade, 

< Yet green the juicy Hawthorn grows, 

Adowri the glade. 



KOBERT BURNS. 

• Then never murmur nor repine ; 

* Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 

* And trust me, not PotosVs mine, 

< Nor King's regard, 

* Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 

* A rustic Bard. 

< To give my counsels all in one, 

* Thy tuneful flame still careful fan 

* Preserve the dignittj of Man, 

' With Soul erect ; 
' And trust, the Universal Plan 

* Will all protect. 

* And ivear thou this* — she solemn said? 
And bound the Holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 

Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 
In light away. 



TO A HAGGIS. 

FAIR fa* your honest, sonsie face, 
Great Chieftan o' the Puddin-race ! 
Aboon them a* ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm 
Weel are ye wordy of a grace 

As lang*s my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdles like a distant hill, 
Your /2m wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need, 
While thro' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 



^ THE POETICAL WORKS 01 

His knife see Rustic-labour dight, 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich ! 

Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive^ 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive. 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 

Bethankit hums. 

Is there that owre his French ragout, 
Or olio that wad staw a sow. 
Or fricassee wad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner, 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view, 

On sic a dinner ? 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, 
As feckless as a wither'd rash. 
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash. 

His nieve a nit j 
Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash, 

O how unfit I 

But mark the Kustic, haggis-fed, 
The trembling earth resounds his tread, 
Cli.p in his walie nieve a blade, 

He'll mak it whissle j 
An* legs, an' arms, an* heads will sned. 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware 

That jciups in luggies : 
But, if ye wish her gratcfu' pray'r, 

Gie her a Huggis i 



ROBERT BURNS. 4.5 

THE AiULD FARMER'S 

NEW- YEAR MORNING S^ULUTATION 

TO HIS 

AULD MARE, MAGGIE. 

On giving her the accustomed Ripp of Corn to Hansel in the 
New-Year. 

A GUID JVeiV'Year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
PLlC, there's a rififi to thy auld bai^gie : 
Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie, 

I've seen the day 
Thou eould hae gaen like onie stag^ie 

Out owre the lay. 

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, 
An* thy auld hide as white's a daisie, 
I've seen thee dappi't, sleek an' gldzie, 

A bonie gr;iy : 
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, 

Ance in a day. ^ 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
KJilly buirdly, steeve, an' swank. 
An' set weel down a shapely shank, 

As e'er tread yird ; 
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank. 

Like onie bird. 

It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, 
Sin' thou was i:y Guid-father's Meere ; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear. 

An' fifty mark ; 
Tho', it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, 
An' thou Wtis stark. 



46 THE IPOETICAL WORKS OF 

When first I v-ixed to woo my Jenny^ 
Ye. then was trottin wi* your Minnie : 
Tao' ye was trickie, slee, an* lunnie, 

Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an* cannie, 

An* unco sonsie. 

That day, ye pranc'vi wi' nuickle pride. 
When ye bure hanrie my bonie Brick : 
An' sweet an' graceiu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide, 

For sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, 
All' wintle like a saumont-cobble, 
Th.'.t day, ye was a jinker noble, 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran them till they a' did waubie, 
Far, far behin' 1 

When thou an* I were young an' skiegh, 
An' stable-meals at Fairs were driegh. 
How thou wad prance, an' snore an' skriegh^ 

An' tak the road I 
Town's-bodies ran, an' stood abiegh, 

An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't an' I was mellow^i 
We took the road ay like a Swallow : 
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, 

For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 
Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, 
Might aiblins waur*t thee for a brattle; 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle^ 

An' gar't them whaizle : 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazle. 



ROTiERT BURNS 47 

Thou was a noble Fitti€-lan\ 
As e'ei* in tu^ or tow was c'rawn ! 
Aft thee an' I, in au^ht hours gaun, 

On guid March-weather, 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', 
For days thegither. 

Thou never braing't an' fetch't an* fliskitj 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
An* spread abraid thy weel-fill'd brisket, 

\Vi* pith an' pow*r, 
Till spritty knowes wad rair't an* riskit, 

An' slypet owre. 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, 
An' threaten'd labor back to keep, 
I gied thy co^ a wee-bit heap 

Aboon the timmer ; 
I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or Simmer. 

In cart or car thou never reestit ; 
The steyest brae thou wad hae fac t it ; 
Thou never lap, an' sten't, an' breastit, 
Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit. 
Thou snoov't awa. 

My Pleugh is now thy bairn-time a» ; 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
Forbye sax mae, Tve sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst : 
They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, 
The vera warst. 

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wroughtj 
An' wi' the weai7 warl' fought I 
An* monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy Age we le broueht, 

Wi' something yet. 



48 THE POETICAL WORKS OP 

An' thmk na, my auld, trusty Servan', 
That now perhaps thou s less deservin, 
An thy auld days m.ny end in starvin', 

For my last foiv, 
A heapit Stimfiart^ I U reserve ane 
Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither; 
We 11 toyte about wi' ane anither; 
Wi tenlie care I'll flit thy tether, 

To some hain d rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 



EPISTLE 

TO 

DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. 

Januai'y- 

WHILE winds frae off Ben-Lomond blaw. 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, 
I set me, down, to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or tvva o' rhyme, 

In hamely, wcsilin jingle. 
While frosty winds biaw in the drift; 

Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the Great-folk's gift. 
That live sa bien an' snug : 
I tent less, and want less 
Their roomy fire-side ; 
But hanker, and canker, 
To see their cursed pride. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

It's hardly in a body's pow*r, 

To keep, at times, fr..e being sour, 

To see how things are shard ; 
How best o' chiels are whyles in want, 
While Coofs on countless thousands rant. 

And ken nu how to wair't: 
But Davie^ lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho* we hae little gear, 
"We're fit to win cor daily bread, 
As lang's we*re hale and fier : 
* Mair spier na, nor fear na'*, 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg ; 
The last o't the warst o't, 
It is only but to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 
When banes are craz'd and bluid is thin, 

Is doubtless, great distress ! 
Yet then content could make us blest ; 
Ev'n then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However Fortune kick the ba', 
Has ay some cause to smile : 
And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae s na'; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther we can fa'. 

What tho'; like Commoners of air, 
We wander out, we know not wnere. 

But either house or hal' ? 
Yet Nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when Daisies deck the ground. 

And Blackbirds whistle clear, 
Wi'h honest joy our hearts will bound, 

To see the coming year : 

* Ramsay. 

F 



^Q iHE POETICAL WORKS OF 

On braes when we please, then, 
We'll sit and sowth a tune : 

Syne rhyme \X\Vu well time till't, 
An sing*t when we hae done. 

It's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on Bank, 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
It's no in makin muckle, wair : 
It's no in books ; it's no in lear, 

To make us truly blest: 
If Happiness hae not her seat 

And cer.tre in the breast, 
We Ti.ay be wise, or rich, or great. 
But never can be blest: 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures. 
Could make us happy lang ; 
The heart ay's the part ay. 
That makes us right or wrang. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

W'ha drudge and drive thro' wet and dry. 

Wi' never ceasing-toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent us in their way. 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft, in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless, and fearless. 

Of either Heaven or Hell; 
Esteeming and deeming 
It a' an idle tale ! 

Then let us chearfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty Pleasures less, 

By pining at our state : 
And, ev'n should Misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 

An's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie ihe wit of Age to Youth ; 

They lei us ken oursel j 



BOBERT BURNS. 51 



They make us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
Tho' losses, and crosses, 

Be lessons right severe. 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye*ll find nae other where. 

But tent me, Davie, Ace o* Hearts ! 
(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes. 

And fldtt'ry I detest) 
This life has joys for you and I ; 
And joys that riches ne*er could buy ; 

/\.nd joys the very best. 
There's a' the Pleasures o* the Heart, 

The Lover an* the Frien* ; 
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jeati ! . 
It warms me, it charms me, 
^:To mention but her name : 
It heats me, it beets me, 
' , And sets me a* on flame ! 

O, all ye Pow*rs who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very self art love ! 

Thou know*st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my hearty 
Or my more dear Immortal part. 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Dep;'ive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brings relief, 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, All-seeing, 
" G-hear my fervent pray'r ! 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar care I 

All hail ! ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear, 

The sympathetic glow ! 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had numbered out my weary days, 

Had it not been for you ! 



52 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Fate still has blest n e with a friend, 

In ev'ry care and ill ; 
And oft a more endeating band, 
A tie n.ore tender still. 
It lit^htens, ii brightens, 
The tenebrific scene. 
To iTicet \vitli, and greet with 
My Davie, or my Jean ! 

O, how that nme inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin, rank and file, 

Amaist beiore I ken ! 
The ready n»easurc rins as fine, 
As PhcEbus and ti.e famous Nine 

Were glowrin owrc my pen. 
My spdviet Piga^vs will li:; p, 

liii ance he's fairly het ; 
And tiicn he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp. 
And rin an unco fit : 

But least then, the beast then, 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
I'll light row, and dight now 
HiS sweaty, wizen'd hide. 



SECOND EPISTLE TO 

DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. 

/^.ITI.n NEEBOR, 

I'M three times, doubly owre, your debtor. 
For your auld-farrunt, frien'ly letter : 
Tho* I maun say'i, I doubt ye flatter, 

Ye speak sae fair; 
For my poor, silly, rhymin clatter, 

Some less maun sair. 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle. 
Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle, 
To chear you thro' the weary widdle 

O* war'iy cares, 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld grey hairs. 



ROBERT BURNS. ^3 

But, Davie lad, I'm rede,* ye'ie glaikitj 
I'm tauld the muse ye hae negleldt; 
An' gif its sue, ye shouM be iickit ; 

Until ye fyke ; 
Sic hand as you shou'd ne'er be faikit, 

Be hain't wiia like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus's brink, 
Ry vin the words, to gar them clink ; 
Whyles daizt svi' love, whyles ddizt wi* drink, 

Wi' jads or masons ; 
An' whiles, but ay owre late, I think, 
Braw sober lessons. 

O' a' the thoughtless sons o' men, 
Commend me to the Bardie clan ; 
Except it be some idle plan, 

O' rhy : in clink, 
The devil-haet, that I shou'd ban. 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' liviil, 
N le cares to gie us joy or grievin ; 
But just the pouch to put the nieve in, 

An' while ought's there, 
Then hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrivin, 

An' fash nae mair. 

Leeze me on rhyne ! it's ay a treasure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure. 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark or leisure, 

The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure, 
She's seldom lazy. 

* The word rede which properly sig-nifies to advise or ivarii, and 
is in some editions improperly spelled red, is here used for rud, a 
Word in universal use all along the border, particularly towai'ls 
the west, both on the Scots ancl Ens^lish side, and signi^es afraid 
or douhtful, " Fm radye're glaikit"" — I am afraid or doubtful you 
are foohsh or crazy. E. 

F 2 



54 THE POETICAL WORKS ©P 

Hand to the Muse, my dainty Davie ; 
The vvarl' may play you mony a shavie; 
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, 

Tho' e'er sae poor, 
Na, e'en tho' limpin wi' the spavie 

Frae door to door. 



THE LAMENT, 

OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE 

OF A 

FRIEND'S AIVIOUR. 



Alas ! how oft does Goodness wound itself! 
And sweet Jiffestion prove the spring- of Woe ! 



THOU pale Orb, that silent shines, 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep I 

Thou seest a Wretch, who inly pines. 
And wanders here to wail and weep ! 

With Woe I nightly vigils keep, 
Beneath thy wan, un warming beam; 

And mourn, in lamentation deep, 
How life and love are all a dream ! 

1 joyless view thy rays adorn 

The faintly-marked, distant hill : 
I joyless view thy trembling horn, 

Reflected in the gurgling rill. 
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! 

Thou busy pow'r. Remembrance, cease! 
-Ah 1 must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning Peace ! 



HoMfi, 



ROBERT RURNS. 

No idly-feip^nM poetic pains, 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim : 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame ; 
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 

The oft-attested Pow*rs above ; 
The promised Father* s tender name ; 

These were the pledges of my love I 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptur'd moments flown ! 
IIow have I wish*d for fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and her's alone ! 
And, must I think it ! is she gone. 

My secret heart's exulting boast ? 
And does she heedless hear my groan ? 

And is she ever, ever lost? 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to Honor, lost to Truth, 
As from the fondest lover part. 

The plighted husband of her youth ? 
Alas 1 Life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may lie thro* rough distress ! 
Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe. 

Her sorrows share and make them less ? 

Ye winged Hours that o'er us past. 

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast. 

My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd. 
That breast, how dreary now, and void, 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of Hope destroy'd. 

And not a Whh to gild the gloom ! 

The morn that warns th' approaching day, 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
I see the hours, in long array, 

That I must sufier, lingering, slow. 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen Recollection's direful train. 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 



56 THE POETieAL WORKS 01' 

And when my nightly couch I try, 

Sore-harassM out, with care and grief, 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-won eye, 

Keep watching with the nightly thief : 
Or if I slumber, Fancy, chief. 

Reigns, haggard-wild, in sore affright ; 
Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief, 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

O ! thou bright Queen, who, o'er th' expanse. 

Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway ! 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

ObservM us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away, 

While Love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray. 

To mark the mutual-kindling eye. 

Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes never, never to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget, 

Again I feel, again I burn ! 
From ey'ry joy and pleasure torn. 

Life's weary vale Til wander thro' ; 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



A PRAYER 



THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 

O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread Presence, ere an hour, 
. Perhaps I must appear ! 



110BEUT BURNS. .5'; 



If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life 1 ought to shun ; 
As So?nething^ loudly in my breast. 

Remonstrates 1 have done ; 

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me 
With Passions wild and strong ; 

And listening to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human nveakness has come short, 

Ov frailty stept aside, 
Do Thou, All-Good ! for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd, 

No other Plea I have, 
But, Thou art good ; and Goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



STANZAS 

ON THE SAME OCCASION. 

WHY am I loth to leave this earthly scene ? 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between ; 

Some gleams of sunshine mid renewing storms 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 

Or Death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ; 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, ' Forgive my foul offence !' 

Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
But, should my Author health again dispense. 
Again I might desert fair Virtue's way ; 
Again in Folly's path might go astray ; 



58 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Again exalt the brute and sink the man ; 
Then how should I for Heavenly Mercy pray, 

Who act so counter Heavenly Mercy's plan? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran ? 

€) Thou, Great Governor of all below 1 

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow. 

Or still the tumult of the raging sea : 
With that controuling pow*r assist ev'n me, 

Those headlong, furious passions to confine j 
For all unfit I feel my powers be, 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
G, aid me with Thy help, Omnifiotence Divine ! 



LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE ONE NIGHT, 
THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING VERSESVS THE 
ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. 

O THOU dread Pow*r, who reign'st above 1 

I know Thou wilt me hear ; 
When for this scene of peace and love, 

I make my pray*r sincere. 

The hoary Sire — the mortal stroke, 

Long, long be pleas'd to spare j 
To bless his little filial flock. 

And show what good men are. 

She, who her lovely Offspring eyes 

With tender hopes and fears, 
O bless her with a Mother's joys, 

But spare a Mother's tears ! 

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, 

In manhood's dawning blush ; 
Hess him, Thou God of love and truth, 

Up to a Parent's wish. 



KOBKRT BURNS. 59 



The beateous, seraph Sister-band, 

With earnest tears I pray, 
Thou know*st the snares on ev*ry hand. 

Guide Thou their steps alway. 

When soon or late they reach that coast, 
C)*er life's rough ocean driven. 

My they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 
A Family in Heaven ! 



THE FIRST PSALM. 

THE man, in life where-ever plac'd, 

Hdth happiness in store, 
Wiio walks not in the wicked's way, 

Nor learn's their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornful Pride 

Casts forth his eyes abroad, 
Bui with humility and awe 

Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees 
Which by the streamlets grow ; 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt 

ShuU to the ground be cast, 
And like the rootless stubble tost. 

Before the sweeping blast. 

For why ? that God the good adore 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest. 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



60 THE POETICAL VvORKS OP 

EPISTLE 

TO 

A YOUNG FRIEND. 



May 1786: 



I LANG hae thought, my yoiithfu' friend, 

\ Something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve nae ither end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject thenie may gang, 

Let time and chunce determine j 
Perhaps it may turn out a Sang ; 

Perhaps, turn out a Sermon. 

Ye'll try the world soon, my ladj 

And ^ndrciv dear, believe me, 
Ye'll find mankind an unco squadj 

And ti^uckle they may grieve ye : 
For care and trouble set your thought, 

Ev'n when your end's attained ; 
And a' your views may come to nought, 

Where ev'ry nerve is strained. 

1*11 no say, men are villains a' ; 

The real, hardened wicked, 
Wha hue nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricked : 
But Och, mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If Sdft\\^ wavering balance shake. 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 

Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife. 
Their fate we should na censure, 

For still th' important end of life. 
They equally may answer : 



ROBERT BURNS. 61 



A man may hae an honest heart, 
Tho' Poortith hourly stare him ; 

A man may tak a neebor*s part, 
Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

Ay free, aff han', your story tell, 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek thro* ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen*d, sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love? 

Luxuriantly indulge it; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove^ 

Tho' naething Should divulge it : 
I wave the quantum o' the sin ; 

The hazard of concealing ; 
But Och ! it hardens a* within, 

And petrifies the feeling I 

To catch Dame Fortune's golden smilCj 

Assiduous wait upon her ; 
And gather gear by evVy wile 

That's justify'd by Honor : 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Not for a train-attendant ; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being indefiendent* 

The fear o' Hell's a hangman's whip, 
To baud the wretch in order ; 

But where ye feel your Honor grip, 
Let that ay be your border: 

It's slightest touches, instant pause- 
Debar a' side-pretenees ; 

And resolutely keep it's Idws, 
Uncaring consequences. 
G 



Q2 iHB POETICAL WORKS OF- 

The great Creator to revere, 

Must sure become the Creatnj-e ; 
But still the pieychmg cant forbear, 

And ev'n the rigid feature : 
Yet ne'er with W its profane to range. 

Be complhisai'ce extei.ded ; 
An Atneist-hmgh's a poor exchange 

lor Deity oliended ! 

\Vhen ranting round in Pleasure's ring, 

Keligion may be blinded : 
Or if she gie a rajidom stingy 

It may be little minded; 
But when on Life we're tempest-driv*n, 

A Conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heuv'n, 

Is sure a noble anchor / 

Adieu, dear, amiable Youth ! 

Your I'.ei.rt can lic'cr be wanting 1 
^ay Prudence, Fortitude, and Truth 

Erect your brow undaunting I 
In ploughman phrase, ' God send you speed. 

Still daily to grow wiser ; 
And may ye better reck the rede^ 

Than ever did th' Adviser \ 



97i A 

SCOTCH BARD 

€ONE TO THE WEST INDIES. 

A' YE whi live by sowps o' drink, 
A' yt v.'Ijo live by cran»bo-clhjk, 
A' yc wha live and never think, 

Con e, mourn wi' me ! 
Oar hillH^s gien us a' a jink, 

An* owre the Sea. 



ROBERT BURNS. ^3 



l-ament him, a* ye raiitin core, 
Wha dearly like a yandom-splore ; 
Nae mair he'll join the Jiierry roar, 

In social key ; 
For now he's taen anither shore, 

An' ovvre the Sea ! 

The bonie lasses weel may wiss him, 
And in their dear p.etitions place him : 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, 

Wi' tearfu' e'e ; 
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him 

That's owre the Sea! 

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 
H.tdst thou taen afF some drowsy bummle, 
Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea ; 
But he was gleg as onie wumble, 

That's owre the Sea ! 

Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, 
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear : 
'Twill mak her poor, auld heart, I fear, 

In flinders flee : 
He was her Laurent monie a year. 

That's owre the Sea ! 

He saw Misfortune's cauld JSTor-wesi 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A Jillet brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be ! 
So, took a birth afore the mast. 

An' owre the Sea. 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock^ 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach, 

Could ill agree ; 
So, row't his hurdies in a hammock. 
An' owre the Sea; 



04, THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi' him it ne*er was under hiding ; 

He dealt it free : 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in, 

That's owre the Sea. 

Jamaica bodies^ use him weel, 
All' hap hi . in a cozie biel : 
Ye*ll find him ay a dainty chiel, 

An* fou o' glee : 
He wad na wrang'd the vera Deil, 

That's owre the Sea. 

Fareweel my rhyme'comimsing hillie I 
Your native soil was right ill-wiliie ; 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonilie ! 
I'll toast ye in n.y hindmost gillie, 

Tho* owre the sea I 



TO A LOUSE, 

On seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church. 

HA ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie I 
Your impudence protects you sairiie : 
I canua sae but ye strunt rarely, 

C/wre gauze and lace ; 
Tho' faith, I fear, ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunnM, by saunt an' sinner, 
How dare ye set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a Lady ! 
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner, 

On some poor body. 



ROBERT BURNS, 65 

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattie ; 
There ye m^iy cieep, and sprawl, and sprattlc 
Wi* ither kindred, jumping cattle, 

In shoals and nations ; 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 

Now haud ye there, ye're out o' sight, 
Below the fatt'rels, snug and tight ; 
Na faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right 

Till ye've got on it, 
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height 

O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out, 
As plump an' gray as onie grozet : 
O for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddum, 
I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't, 

Wad dress your droddum ! 

I wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy ; 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On's wyliecoat ; 
But Miss's fine Lunardie ! fie ! 

How dare ye do'ti 

O, Jenny^ dinna toss your head, 
An' set your beauties a' abread I 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin I 
Thae winks and Jinger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin I 

O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us 
To see oursein as other see us I 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

An' foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad le ='e us, 

And ev'n Devotion I 

G ^ 



66 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

A PRAYER, 

Under the Pressure of violent Anguish. 

O THOU great Being ! what Thou art, 

Surpasses me lo know : 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all Thy works below. 

Thy creature here before Thee stands, 

AH wretched and distrest; 
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 

Obey Thy high behest. 

Sure Thou, Alirighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or close them fast in death ! 

But if I must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design ; 
Then, ir.an my soul with firm resolves 

To bear and not repine ! 



TO RUIN. 

ALL hail ! inexorable lord ! 

At whose destruction-breathing word, 

The mightiest empires fall I 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted tr.iin, 
The ministers of Grief and Puin, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-vesolv'd, despairing eyCj 

I see each aimed dart ; 
VoT one has cut my dearest tye^ 

And quivers in my heart. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Then lowering, and pouring, 
The Storm no more 1 dread ; 

Tho' thick'ning, and black'ning, 
Round my devoted head. 

And thou grim Pow'r, by Life abhorr'd, 
"While Life ^ f ilea sure CAXi afford, 

Oh I hear a wretch's pray'r! 
No uore I shrink ap pal I'd, afraid j 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 
To close this scene of care! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign lAie^s joyless day ? 
My weary heart it's throbbings ceasei, 
Cold mould'ring in the clay ? 
No fear more, no tear more, 
To stain my lifeless face, 
Enclasped, and grasped, 
Within thy cold embrace ! 



EPITAPH 

FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. 

O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains. 

Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend! 
Here lie ihe loving Husband's dear remains. 

The tender Father, and the gen*rous Friend. 
The pitying heart that felt for human Woe ; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human Pride 
The Friend of Man, to vice alone a foe ; 

< For ev'n his failings lean'd to Virtue's side*.* 

•* Goldsmith. 



6r 



68 THE POETICAL WORICS OF 

BURN'S EPITAPH, 

BY HIMSELF. 

IS there a whim-inspired fool, 
Ovvre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, 

Let him draw near: 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a Bard of rustic song, 
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 
That weekly this area throng, 

O, pass not by ! 
But, with a frater-feeling strong. 

Here, heave a sigh. 

Is there a man, whose judgment clear, 
Can others teach the course to steer. 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career. 
Wild as the wave, 
Here pause— and, thro' the starting teap, 
Survey this grave I 

The poor Inhabitant below 
Was quick to learn and wise to know, 
And keenly felt the friendly glow, ^ 

And softer Jlame ; 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And staiij!d his name 1 

Reader, attend— whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. 

In low pursuit, 
Know, prudent, cautious, self-controul 
Is Wisdom's ropt. 



ROBERT BURNS. $9 



DELIA. 



FAIR the face of orient d^y, 
Fair the tints of op'ning rose ; 
But furer still my Delia dawns, 
More lovely far her beauty blows- 
Sweet the Lark's wild- warbled lay. 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hecir ; 
But, Delia, more delightful still, 
Steal thine accents on mine ear. 

The flower-enamourM busy Bee 
The rosy banquet loves to sip ; 
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip ; 

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove ! 
O let me steal one liquid kiss ! 
For Oh ! my soul is parch'd with love 



TAM O' SHANTEH. 

A TALE. 

Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full in this Buke. 

GAWIN DOUGLAb'. 

WHEN chapman billies leave the street, 
An* drouthy neebors, neebors meet. 
As market-days are wearin late, 
An' folk begin to lak the gate; 
While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' gettin fou an' unco happy. 



J'O THE POETICAL WORKS 01" 

"VVe think na on the langj Scots miles, 
The mosses, vaters, siaps, an' styles, 
That lie between us an' our ha . e, 
M l.are sits our sulkj^ sullen dame, 
G-.th'rin her brows like gath'rki storm, 
Kursin her wiath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tarn o' Sharitevy 
As he frae Ayr ae nii^ht did canter, 
(Auld Ayr wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men an bonie lasses.) 

O Tarn ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate\<s advice ! 
She tuuld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
A bletherin, blusterin, drucken blellum ; 
That frae Nove , ber till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober ; 
1 hdt ilka melder, wi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou h.id siller ; 
That ev'ry naig was caM a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat rodrin fou on ; 
That at the L — d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
7I10U drunk wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. 
She prophesy'd, thttt, late or soon, 
Thou wad be found deep drown'd in Doon; 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks i' the mirk, 
By Alloway*s auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me gree^, 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony lenghthen'd Sdge advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market night, 
Tain had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely ; 
An' at his elbow, Souter Johnny^ 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegitheri 



ROBBHT BURNS. y^i 

The night drave on wi* sangs an* cktter ; 
An' ay the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and Tarn grew gracious, 
W'i' favours, secret, sweet, and precious : 
The Souter tauid his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
The storm without .nightrfair and rustle, 
Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy : 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o* treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure : 
Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious 1 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
Y )U seize the flower, its bloom is shed; 
Or like the snow-fdls in the river, 

A moment white then melts for ever 5 

Or like the borealis race. 

That flit ere you can point their place ; 

Or like the rainbow's lovely for in, 

Evanishing amid the storm. 

K xe man can tether time or tide ; 

The hour approaches Tu?n maun ride ; 

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane. 

That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; 

An' sic a night he taks the road in. 

As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast; 
T ie speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellowM ; 
That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Megy 
A better never lifted leg. 
Tarn skelpit on thro* dub an' mire, 
Despising wind, an' rain, an' fire ; 



y2 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet; 
Whiles crooning o*er some auld Scots Sonnet; 
Whiles glow' ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares : 
Kirk-Alloivay was drawing nigh, 
Where ghaists an* howlets nightly cry.-~ 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman s^soor'd; 
An' past the birks an^ meikle stane, 
Whare drucken Charlie brak's neck-bane: 
An' thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; 
An' near the thorn aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo^s mither hang'd hersel. — 
Before him Doon pours a' his floods ; 
The doublin storm roars thro' the woods ; 
The lightnings flash frae pole to pole ; 
>iear an' more near the thunders roll : 
When, glimmering thro' the groanin trees, 
Kirk-Mloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancin ; 
An' loud resounded mirth an' dancin. — 

Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst mak us scorn i 
Wi' tippeny, we fear nae evil ; 
Vv i' usquabae we'll face the devil !— 
The swats sae ream'd in Tajninie's noddle, 
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. 
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
Till by the heel, an' hand admonish'd, 
She ventur'd forward on the light ; 
An , vow ! Tarn saw an unco sight I 
Warlocks an' witches in a dance ; 
Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, an' reels. 
Put life an' mettle i' their heels ; 
A winnock-bunker i' the east, 
There sat auid Nick, in shape o' beast : 
A lowzie tyke, black, grim, an' large, 
To gie them music was his charge : 



ROBERT BURNS. - 7-3 

He screw'd the pipes, an' gart them skirl, 
Till roof an' rafters a' did dirl. — 
Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses : 
And by some dev'lish cantraip slight, 
Each in its cauld hand held a light — 
By which heroic Tarn was able, 
To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims; 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns ; 
A thief new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi* his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted j 
Five scymiters, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter which a babe had strangled, 
A knife, a farther's throat had mangled, 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft. 
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft; 
(Three lawyers' tongues turn'd inside out> 
Wi' lies seem'd like a beggar's cluut ; 
And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, 
Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk.) 
Wi' mair o' horrible an' awfu', 
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowr'd, amazM, an* curious j 
The mirth an' fun grew fast an' furious : 
The piper loud an' louder blew ; 
The dancers quick an' quicker flew : 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit. 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 
An' coost her duddies to the wark, 
An' linket at it in her sark ! 

Now Tam^ O Tarn I had thae been queansj 
A' plump an' strappin i' their teens, 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder iinnen \ 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair. 
That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies, 
For ae blink o' the bonie burdies \ 
U 



74 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

But vitherVi beldams, auld an' droll, 
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowpin an' flingin on a crummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tarn kend what was what fu' brawlie ; 
There was ae winsome wench an' walie, 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kend on Carrick shore ; 
For monie a beast to dead she shot, 
An' perishM monie a bonie boat, 
An' shook baith meikle corn an' bear, 
An' kept the country-side in fear) ; 
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn. 
That while a lassie she had worn ; 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty. 
It was her best, an' she was vauntie, — 
Ah 1 little kend thy reverend Grannie, 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
V i' twa pund Scots, ('twas a* her riches), 
Wad ever gracM a dance of witches I 

But here my Muse her wing maun cour ; 
Sie flights are far beyond her pow'r j 
To sing how Nannie lap an' flang, 
(A soupie jade she was an' Strang), 
An' how Tain stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
An' thought his very cen enrich'd ; 
Ev'n SatiiU glov/r'd, an' fidg'd fu' fain. 
An' hotch'd an' blew wi' might an' main. 
Till first ae caper, syne anither. 
Tarn tint his reason a' thegiiher. 
An' roars out, ' Wee! done, Cutty-sark I' 
An' in an instant a' was dark : 
An' scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke ; 
"When plunderin herds assail their byke j 
A«- open pussie's mortal foes, 
Wb^n, pop I she starts before their nose ; 
As eae;;ei runs the murkei-crowd, 
When ' Catch the thief!' resounds aloud; 



ROBERT BURNS. 

So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 

Wi' monie an eldritch skreech an' hollow. 

Ah, Tarn! Ah, Tarn! thou'il get thy fairin ! 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin I 
In v^in thy Kale awaits thy comin 1 
Kate soon will be a woefu' wo '.an ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
An' win the key-stane * of the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they darcna cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The ficnt a tale she had to shake I 
For Nannie, far before the rest. 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest. 
An' flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle ; 

But little wist she Maggie's tuettle ■ 

Ae spring brought off her master hale. 
But left behind her ain grey tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
An' left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son take heed ; 
Whane'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
Or cutty-sarks run i' your mind. 
Think, ye may buy the joy's o'er dear, 
ReiTiember Tarn o' Shunter'' s mare. 



* It is a well known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, have 
no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the 
next running stream — It may be proper likewise to mention to 
the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, what- 
ever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more ha- 
zard in turning back. 



7t> THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

ADDRESS 

TO THE TOOTH-ACHE^ 

(Written by the Author at a time when he whs grievously tor- 
mented by that Disorder.) 

MY curse on your envcnom'd staiig, 
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang, 
An' thro* my lugs gies mony a bang 

Wi* gnuwin vengeance; 
Tearing my nerves wi* bitter twang, 

Like racking engines. 

A' down my beard the slavers trickle, 
I Cast the wee stools owre the meikle, 
While round the fire the bav*rels keckle, 

To see me loup; 
I curse an' ban, an' wish a heckle 

Were i' tliere doup. 

Whan fevers burn, or agues freeze us, 
Rheui: atics gnaw, or colics squeeze us, 
' Our neebors sympathize, to ease us, 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
But thou — the hell o* a' diseases. 

They mock our groan. 

O* a' the num'rous human dools, 
III har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools^ 
Or worthy friends laid i' the mools, 

Sad sight to see ! 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree 

Whare*er that place be, priests ca' hell, 
Whare a' the tones o' misery's yell. 
An' plagues in ranked number tell 

In deadly raw, *■- 

Thou, Tooth'ttchCy surely bear'st the bell 
Aboon them a' I 



ROBERT BURNS. ?7 

O ! thou grim mischief-makin chiel, 
That gars the notes o' discord squcel, 
Till human-kind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe thick, 
Gie a* the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towmond's tooth-achs ! 



THE HOLY FAIR*. 

A robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty observation ; 
And secret hung, with poison'd crust. 

The dirk of Defamation : 
A mask that like the gorget show'd, 

Dye-var_ving, on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle larp;-e and broad. 

He wrapt him in Religion. 

Hypocrisy a-la-mode* 

UPON a simmer Sunday mornj 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the corn. 

An' snuff the caller air. 
The rising sun, owre Galston muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin ; 
The hares were hirplin down the furs, 

The lav'rocks they were chantin 

Fu' sweet that day. 

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam slielpin up the way. 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' blacky 

But ane wi' lyart lining ; 
The third, that gaed a wee a-back, 

Was in the fashion shining 

Fu' gay that day. 

* Holy Fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland for a 
sacramental occasion. 



?8 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The ^wa appeared like sisters twin, 

In feature, form, an' claes ; 
Their visage wither'd, lang an* thin, 

An' sour as ony slaes : 
Tiie third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp. 

As light as ony lambie, 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop. 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day. 

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, * Sweet lass, 

* I think ye seem to ken me ; 

* I'm sure I've seen that bonie face, 

* But yet 1 canna name ye.' 
Quo she, an' laughin as she spak, 

An' taks me by the hauns, 

* Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 

* Of a' the ten cam maun s 

* A screed some day. 

* My name is Fun — your cronie dear, 

' The nearest friend ye hae ; 

* An' this is Sufierstition here, 

' An' that's Hypocrisy. 
' I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, 

* To spend an hour in daffin : 

< Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair, 
' We will get famous lauyhin 

* At them this day.' 

Quoth I, * With a» my heart I'll do't ; 

* I'll get my Sunday's sark on, 
' An' meet you on tlie holy spot ; 

* Faith, we'se hue fine re arkin !* 
Then T gaed hame at crowdie-time. 

An' soon I made n)C ready; 
For roads were cladf irae side to side, 
Wi* monie a wearie body. 

In droves that day. 

Here, farmers Rash, in ridin graith, 

Gaed hoddin by their colters ; 
There, swankics yc»ung, in braw braid-claith. 

Are springin owre the gutters. 



ROBERT BURNS. 79 



The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 

In silks an' scarlets glitter ; 
\Vi' siveet'jnilk cheese^ in i.onie a whang, 

An* farlsy bak'd wi' butter, 

Fu' crump that day. 

When by the filate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha^pence, 
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show, 

On ev*ry side they're gath*rin ; 
Some carryin dails, some chairs an' stools, 

An' some are busy bleth'rin 

Right loud that day. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs. 

An* screen our countra Gentry, 
There, racei- Jess, an' twa-three wh-res, 

Are blinkin at the entry. 
Here sits a raw o' tittlin jads, 

\\ i* heaving breast an' bare neck ; 
An' there, a batch o' wabster lads, 

Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock 
For fim this day. 

Here, some are thinkin on their sins, 

An* soi* e upo* their claes ; 
Ane curses feet that fy'ld his shins, 

Anither si^hs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 

Wi' screw'd-up, grace-proud faces; 
On that, a set o' Chaps, at watch, 

Thrang winkin on the lasses 1 

To chairs that day. 

O happy is that man, an' blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride ',i (1 ! 
Wha's ain dear lass^ that he likes bestj 

Comes clinkin down beside him I 



gQ THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back, 
He sweetly does compose him ; 

Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 
An's loof upon her bosom 

Unkend that day. 

Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation ; 
For M e speels the holy door, 

Wi* tidings o' d-mn-t-n. 
Should Hornie^ as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' G — d present him. 
The vera sight o' M g's face, 

To's ain het hame had sent him 

Wi' fright that day. 

Hear how he clears the points o' Faith 

Wi* rattlin an' thumpin ! 
Now meekly calm, — now wild in wrath, 

He's stampin, an' he's jumpin ! 
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout. 

His eldritch squeel an' gestures, 
O how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidian plasters, 

On sic a day ! 

But, hark ! the tent has chang'd it's voice j 

There's peace and rest nae langer ; 
For a^ the real judges rise. 

They canna sit for anger. 
S — h opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on n. orals ; 
An' aff the i?odly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day. 

What signifies his barren shine. 

Of moral pow'rs an' reason ? 
His English style, and gesture fine? 

Are a' clean out o' season. 



ROBERT BURNS. 81 



Like Socrates or ^ntonine^ 

Or some aulu pagan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day. 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 
For P s, frae the water-fit, 

Ascends the holy rostrum ; 
See, up he's got the word o' G — d, 

An' meek an' mim has view'd it, 
While Common- Sense has ta'en the road> 

An' aff, an' up the Cowgate* 

Fast, fast that day. 

Wee M — 11 — r niest, the Guard relieves^ 

An' Orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes. 

An' thinks it auld wife's fables : 
But faith ! the birkie wants a Manse> 

So, cannilie he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like hafflins-wise o'ercomes him 
At til res that day. 

Now, butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, 

W i' yill-caup Commentators : 
Here's crying out for bakes an-gills, 

An' there the pint-stowp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' Logic, an' wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that, in the end. 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 

Leeze me on Drink ! it gies us mair 
Than either School or College : 

It kindles Wit, it waukens Lair, 
It pangs us fou o' Knowledge. 

* A street, so called, which faces the tent in- 



82 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Be't wbisky gill, or penny vvheep. 

Or ony stronger potion, 
It never fijls, on drinkin deep, 

To kittle up our notion, 

By night or day. 

The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body, 
Sit round the l^ble, weel content, 

An' steer about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, 

They're makhi observations ; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin assignations 

To meet some day. 

But now the L — d's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rairin, 
An' echoes back return the shouts ; 

Black R — ss — 1 is na sparin : 
His piercing vv^ords, like Highlan swords, 

Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
His talk o' H-11, whare devils dwell, 

Our vera * Sauls does harrow*' 

Wi' fright that day. 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless Pit, 

Fill'd fou o' lowin brunstane, 
Wha's raging flame, an' scorchin heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane I 
The half asleep start up wi' fear, 

An' think they hear it roarin, 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neebor snorin 

Asleep that day. 

'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell, 

How monie stories past. 
An' how they crowded to the yill. 

When they were a' dismist : 

* Shakespeare's Hamlet. 



ROBERT BURNS. §3 



How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, 
A '^an^ the turms an* benches; 

An* cheese an* bread, frae women's laps, 
Was dealt about in iunches, 

An* dawds that day. 

In comes a gaucie, gash Guidwife, 

An' sits down by the fire, 
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife. 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auid Guidnien, about the graccy 

Frae side to side they bother, 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gies them't, like a tether, 

Jbu' lang that day. 

Wac sucks ! for him that gets nae lass, 

Or k;sses that hae naetliing I 
Siiia' need has he to say a grace. 

Or melvie his braw claithing! 
O Wives be mindlu' ance yoursel, 

Kosv bonie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day ! 

Now Clinkumbdl^ wi' rattlin tow, 

begins to jow an' croon ; 
Some swagger hame, the best they dow, 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink. 

Till lasses strip their shoon: 
Wi' laith an' hope, an' love an' drink, 

They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

How monie hearts this day converts 

O' Sinners and o' Lasses! 
Their hearts o' stane gin night are gane, 

As saft as onie ilesh is. 



^4. THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

There some are fou o' love divine ; 

There's some are fou'o' brandy ; 
An' monie jobs that day begin, 

May end in Hough ragandie 

Some ither day. 



DEATH 

?-. . AND 

DOCTOR HORNBOOK i 

A TRUE STORY. 

SOME books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never penn'd ; 
Ev'n Ministers they hae been kenn'd, 

In holy rapture. 
Great lies and nonsense baith to vend. 

And nail*t wi' Scripture, 

But this that I am gaun to tell, 
Which lately on a night befel, 
Is just as true's the Deii's in h-11, 

Or Dublin city : 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

'S a muckle pity. 

The Clachan yill had made me canty, 

I was na fou, but just had plenty ; 

I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches ; 
An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes kenn'd ay 

Frae ghaists an' witches. 

The rising Moon began to glowr 
The distant Cu?nnock hills out-owre ; 
To count her horns, wi' a* my pow'r. 

1 set mysel, 
But whether she had three or four, 

I cou'd na tell. 



ROBERT BURNS. ^^ 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin down on TVillie's milly 
Setting mf staff wi* a* my skill, 

To keep me sicker ; 
Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, 

I took a bicker. 

I there yrV Something does forgather, 

That pat me in an eerie swither ; 

An awfu* scythe, out-owre ae shouther. 

Clear-dangling, hang ; 
A three-tae'd leister on the ither ^ 

Lay, large an* lang, 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
The queerest shape that e*er I saw, 
For ficnt a wame it had ava, 

And then its shanks. 
They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' 

As cheeks o' branks. 

* Guid-e'en,' quo' I ; ' Friend ! hae ye been mawinj 

< When ither folk are busy sawin* I* 
It seeni'd to mak a kind o' stan,* 

But naething spak ; 
At length, says I, * Friend, whare ye gauti^ 
' Will ye go back ?* 

It spak right howe — * My name is Deaths 

* But be na fleyM.'— Quoth I, * Guid faith ! 
' Ye're maybe come to stap my breath ; 

' But tent m€, biliie ; 

* I rede ye weel, tak care o' skaith, 

' See, there's a gully I' 

< Guidman,' quo' he, < put up your whittle, 

* I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 

< But if I did, I wad be kittle 

' To be ipislear'd, 

* I wad na mind it, no that spittle 

' Out-owre my beard.' 

"*= This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1782f 
I 



86 THE POETICAL WORKS 01 

< Weel, weel !* says I, * a bargain be*t; 

* Comes, gies your band, an* sue we're gree*t 

* We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, 

' Come, gifcs your news ! 

* This while * ye hae been mony a gate, 

* At mony a house.* 

* Ay, ay !' quo' he, « an' shook his head, 

< It's e'en a lang, lang tir e indeed 
« Sin' I began to nick the thread, 

* An' choke the breath ; 

< Folk maun do something for their bread, 

* An sue maun Death, 

* Sax thousand years are nearhand fled 

< Sin' 1 was to the hutching bred, 

* And mony a scheme in vain's been laid, 

' 1 o stap or scar nic ; 

* 1 ill ane Hornbook's t ti^'en up the trade, 

* And faith, he'll waur m§. 

* Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan, 

* Deil mak iiis king's-hood in a spieuchani 

* He's grown sae weel acquaint wi* Buchan^. 

* And ither chaps, 

* The weans baud out their fingers laughin, 

* And pouk my hips. 

< See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 

< '1 hey hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart ; 

* But Doctor hornbooky wi' his art 

* And cursed skill, 

* Has made them baiih no worth a f — t, 

t D-mn'd haet they'll kill ! 



* An epidemical fever w.is then raging in that country. 

■\ Tills gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is, professionally, a brothel' 
of tiie sovereign order of the Ferula; but by intuition and inspi- 
ration, IS at once an Apothecaz'y, Surg-eon, and Physician. 

^ Bachaii's Domestic Medicine. 



ROBERT BURNS. 87 

* 'Twas but yestreen, nae fi^nher gaen, 

* I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

« Wi* less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain ; 
* But deil-ma-care ! 

* It just play'd dirl on the bnne, 

' But did nae mair. 

< Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 

* And had sae fortify'd the part, 

« That when I looked to my dart, 

* It was sae blunt, 

« Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 

* Of a kail runt. 

* I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 

* I nearhand cowpit wi* Tiny hurry, 
<■ But yet the bauid Ajiothecary 

' Withstood the shock ; 

< I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 

< O* hard whin-rock* 

* Ev'n them he canna get attended, 

* Altho* their face he ne'er had kend it, 
' Just sh— in a kail-blade, and send it, 

' As soon's he smells *t, 
^ Baith their disease, and what will mend it;, 

* At once he tells 't. 

* And then a' doctors' saws and whittles, 
« Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 

< A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 

He's sure to hae; 

< Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

t As A B C, 

* Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees ; 

* True Sal-marinum o' the seas I 

* The Farina of beans and pease, 

* He has 't in plenty , 

< Aqua-fontis, what you please, 

' He can content ye. 



gg THE POBTICAL WORKS OF 

* Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 

* Uriims Spiritus of capons ; 

« Or Mite-horn Bhavings, filings, scrcspings, 
* DistillM per se ; 

< Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail-clippings, 

' And mony raae.* 

* Waes mc for Johnny Gcd^.^-Hole * now,' 
Quoth I, * if that thae news be true ! 

« His braw culf-ward whare gowans grew, 

' Sae white an bonie, 
^ Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew ; 

* They'll ruin Johnie /' 

The creature gnanM an eldritch laugh, 
And says, * Ye needna yoke the pleugh, 
' Kirk-yards will soon be tiil'd eneugh, 

< Tak ye nae fear : 
^ They'll a* be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh, 

* In twa- three year. 

< Whare I kill'd ane, a fair strae-death, 

* By loss o' blood, or want o' breath, 
« This night I'm free to tak my aith, 

* That Hornbook's skill 
« Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

' By drap an' pill. 

* An honest Wabster to his trade, 

* Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, 
' Gat tippencC'Worth to mend her head, 

* When it was sair ; 

< The wife slade cannie to her bed, 

* But ne'er spak mair. 

< A countra Laird had ta'en the batts, 

< Or some curmurring in his guts, 

* His only son for Hornbook sets, 

* And pays him well, 
« The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, 

« Was Laird himsel. 

* The grave-digger. 



ROBERT BURN 89 

* A bonie lass, ye kend her name, 

* Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame, 

* She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, 

* In Hornbook*s care ; 
« Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, 

* To hide it there. 



< That's just a swatch o* Hornbook'^s way, 

< Thus goes he on from day to day, 

< Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

* An*s weel pay'd for't : 
' Yet stops me o* my lawfu* prey, 

* Wi' his d-mnM dirt ! 

< But, hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, 

< Tho' dinna ye be speakin o't ; 
' I'll nail the self-conceited Sot, 

* As dead's a herrin : 

< Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 

< He gets his fairin 1' 

But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strack the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the tival-. 

Which rais'd us baith : 
I took the way that pleas d mysel. 

And sae did Death, 



WINTER. 

A DIRGE. 

tt. THE Wintry West extends his blast, 
And hail and rain does blaw : 
Or, I he stormy North sends driving forth 
The blinding sleet and snaw : 
12 



9Q THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

While, tumbling brown, the Burn comes dowrtj 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast, in covert, rest, 

And pass the heartless day. 

* The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast *,' 

The joyless winter day, 
Let others fear, to me more dear, 

Than all the pride of May : 
The Tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 

My griefs it seenis to join ; 
The leafless trees 'i y fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou PoiiPr SufiremCi whose mighty Scheme 

1 bese woes of mine fulfil ; 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Thy Will ! 
Then all I want (Oh, do thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoxj Thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign ! 



ADDRESS 

TO EDINBURGH. 

EDINA ! Scotia's darling seat! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs. 
Where once, beneath a Monarch's feet? 

Sat Lei;islatior.'s sov'reign pow'rs I 
From marking wildly-scatt'red flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I siruy'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours. 

I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 

* Vis. Young-.i 



ROBERT BURNS. 91 

Here Wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy Trade his labours plies ; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendor rise ; 
Here Justice, from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod; 
There Learning, with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 

Thy Sons, Edina^ social, kind, 

With open arms the Stranger hail ; 
Their views enlargM, their libVal mind, 

Above the narrow, rural vale : 
Attentive still to Sorrow's wail, 

Or modest Merit's silent claim ; 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name ! 

Thy Daughters bright thy M'alks adorn, 

Gay as the gilded summer sky. 
Sweet as the dewy, milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy 1 
Fair B— strikes th' adoring eye, 

Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine; 
1 see the Sire of Love on high. 

And own his work indeed divine ! 

There, watching high the least alarms. 

Thy rough, rude Fortress gleams afar ; 
Like some bold Vet'ran, gray in ar>iis. 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar : 
The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 

Grim rising o'er the rugged rock, 
Have oft withstood assailing War, 

And oft repell'd th' Invader's shock. 

With awe^struck thought, and pitying tears, 

I view that noble, stately Dome, 
Where Scotia's kmgs of other years, 
^ Fam'd heroes 1 had their royal home ; 



92 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Alas, how chang'd the times to come 1 
Their royal Name low in the dust ! 

Their hapless Race wild-wind*ring roam I 
Tho' rigid Law cries out, 'twas just 1 

"Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro* hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev*n / who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply my Sires have left their shed, 
And fac*d grim Danger's loudest roar, 

Bold-following where your Fathers led ! 

Edina ! ScotiaPs darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
"W'here once, beneath a Monarch's feet, 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatt'red flow'rs, 

As on the banks of >/iyr I strayM, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 



ROBERT BURNS. 93t 

THE AUTHOR'S 

EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER*, 

To the Right Honourable and Honourable^ the Scotch 
Representatives in the House of Commons. 

Dearest of Distillation ! last and best ! 

——How art thou lost ! 

Parody on Milton. 

YE Irish Lords, ye Knights an* Squires, 
Wha retirement our brui^hs an' shires, 
An' doucely mcinage our affaits 

In Parliament, 
To you a simple Bardie's pray'rs 

Are humbly sent. 

Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse ! 
Your Honors' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce> 
To see her sittin on her a — 

Low i' the dust, 
An' screechin out pi osaic verse, 

An' like to brust ! 

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me*s in great afRictlon, 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction, 

On Aquavit a ; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction. 

An' move their pity. 

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youth 
The honest, open, naked truth ; 
Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble : 
The muckle devil blaw ye south. 

If ye dissemble ! 

* This v/as wrote befo;e the Act anentthe Scotch Distilleries, 
of session 1786 ; for which Scotland and the Author return their 
most grateful thanks. 



94 THE POETICAL WOHKS OF 

Does ony great man glunch an' gloom ? 
Speak out an' never lasli your thumb ! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

Wi' iheni wha grant *em j 
If honestly they canna come, 

Far belter want 'em. 

In gath.'rin votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tixk : 
Ke'er claw your lu^j, an' fidge your back. 

An' hum an' haw, 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 

Before them a'. 

Pr.int Scotland greetin owre her ihrissle ; 
Her utchkin-stoup as toom's a whissle ; 
An* d-mn'd Excisemen in a bussle, 

Seizin a Steil, 
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel 

Or lampit shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 
A blackguard Smuggler, right behint her, 
An* cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Vintner, 

Colleaguing join, 
Picking her pouch as bare as VVinter, 

Of a' kind coin. 

Is there, that bears the name o* Scoty 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To see his poor aukl Mither's fiot, 

Thus dung in staves, 
An* plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves ? 



Alas ! Tm but a nameless wight, 
Trode i' the mire out o* sight! 
But could I like Montgomcries fight, 

Or gab like Bosivell, 
There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, 

An* tie some hose v/ell. 



ROBKRT BURNS. 95 



Crod bless your Honors, can ye sec't, 
The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet, 

An* gar tliem hear it, 
An* tell them, wi' a patriot-heat, 

Ye winna bear it ! 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period an' pause, 
An' with rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak harangues; 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland s wrangs. 

Demfister, a true-blue Scot I'se warran ; 
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran ; 
An' that glib-gabbet Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' Graham; 
An' ane, a chap that's d-mn'd auldfarran, 

Dunclas his name. 

Urskine, a spunkie Norland billie, 
True Cam/ibells^ Frederick an' Hay ; 
An Li-uistone^ the bauld Sir Willie ; 

An' monie ithers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes or TuUy 

Might own for brithers. 

Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle ! 
0\ faith! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, 

Ye'll see't or lang, 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, 
Anither sang. 

This while she's been in crankous mood, 
Her lost Militia firM her bluid : 
(Deil na they never .iair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie !) 
An' now she's like to rin red-wud 

About her Whisky. 



^Q THE rOB riCAL WORKS 01 

An' L— d, if ance they pit her till't, 
Her tartiui pciiicout she'll kilt, 
An* durk an' pialol at her belt, 

She 11 tak the streets, 
An* rin her whittle to the hilt, 

r th' first she meets ! 

For G — d sake, Sirs ! then speak her fair, 
An* straik her cannie wi' the hair, 
An' to the muckle house repair, 

♦ Wi' instant speed, 
An' strive wi' a' your Wit an' Leur, 

To get remead. 

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox^ 
Muy touni you wi' his ieers an' mocks ; 
But gic him't het, my hearty cocks ! 

E'en cowc the cadic! 
An' send him to bis dicing box 

An* sportin lady. 

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld liocormock'/f^ 
V\\ be his debt twa mash him bannocks, * 
An' drink his hcivllh in auld Miusr 'rimiocCa i 

Nine times a week. 
If he some sch«me, like tea an* vinnorks. 
Wad kindly seel. 

Could he sonic commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in gudc braid Scotch, 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition, 
Yon mixtie-maxtie, (pieer hoich-potch, 

Thr Cuiilition . 



* nMnnhlttm JSainwcln — Krcud made with a mixture ot* fj^rAinft. 
In this case il nmsi b^; understood of Burley jind I'eas. In Eng-.' 
land vuishlum is always Wlieat and Uye. I'. 

I A worthy old Hostess of the Author's in JMamliUne, where It* 
sometimes studies I'olitics over a glasa of gudc auld Hcotch Drink 



ROBERT BURNS; 9f 



Auld Scotland has a raiicle tongue : 
She's just a devil wi' a run^ ; 
An' if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
Tho' by the neck she should be strung, 

She'll no desert. 

An* now ye chosen Fivcand-Forty^ 
May still your Mither's heart support ye ; 
Then, tho' a Minister grow dorty, 

An' kick your place, 
Ye'li snap your fingers poor an' hearty, 
13eforc his face. 

Clod bless your Honors, a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail an' brats o' claisc. 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes 

That haunt St. Jamie* a I 
Your humble Bardie sings an' prays 

While Rab his name is. 



POSTCRIPT. 

Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies. 
See future wines, rich-clustring, rise ; 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, 

But blythe an' frisky, 
She eyes her freeborn, martial boys 

Tak aff their Whisky. 

What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, 
While Fragrance blooms and Beauty charms! 
When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, 

I'he scented groves, 
Or hounded forth, dishonor arms 

In hungry droves. 

K 



9g THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther j 
They downa bide the stink o' powther ; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither 

To Stan' or rin, 
Till skelp — a shot — they're aff, a' throuther, 

To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotchman frae his hill, 
Clap in » is cheek a Hii<hland gill, 
Say, such is royal George^s will, 

An' there's the foe, 
He has na thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doublings tease him; 
eath comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him ! 
\Vi' bluidy han' a welcome gies hv.\. ; 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him 
In faint huzzas. 

Sages their solemn een may steck, 
An' raise a philosophic reek. 
An' physically causes seek, 

In clime an' season, 
But tell me Whisky*s name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland, my auld, respected Mither ! 
Tho' whyles ye moistily your leather, 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine your dam ; 
Freedom and Whisky gang thet;irher, 

Tak aff your dram ' 



ROBERT BLTl^S. 99 



Priendship ! mysterious cement of the soul ! 
S^vcet'ner of Life, and solder of Society ! 
I owe thee much— — — 

Blair, 

DEAR S****, the sleest, paukie thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 
Ye surely hae some warlock-brecf 

Owre human hearts ; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 

Against your arts; 

For me, I swear by sun an' moon, 
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o* shoon 

Just gaun to see you; 
And ev'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mair taen I'm wi' you. 

That auld, capricious carlin. Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpet stature, 
She's turn'd you off, a hu nan creature 

On her first plan, 
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, 

She's wrote, the Man. 

Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme, 
My barmie noddle's working prime. 
My fancy yerkit up sublime 

Wi* liasty summon : 
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time 

To hear wh^'s comin ? 

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash : 
Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash 
Some rhyme to court the countra clash, 

An' raise a din; 
For me, an aim I never lash ; 

I rhyme for fun. 



100 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 
HjS fated me the russet coat, 
An' damri'd my fortune to the groat ; 

But, in requit. 
Has blest me with a random sltot 

O' countru wit. 

This while my notion's taen asklent, 
To try my fr.te in guicl black prent : 
But still the mair Vm that way bent, 

Something- cries, * Hoolie ! 

* I red you, honest man, tak tent I 

' Ye'li shaw your folly. 

* There's ither Poets, much your betters, 

* Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 

* Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, 

* A' future at^es ; 
' Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters, 
' Their unknown pages.' 

Then farewel hopes o' laurel-boughs, 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang, 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 

My rustic sang. 

I'll wander on with tentless heed, 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread: 

Then, all unknown, 
I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead. 

Forgot and gone ! 

But why o' Death begin a tale ? 
Just now we'^re living, sound an' hale ; 
Then top and maintop croud the sail, 

Heave Care o'er side ! 
And large, before Enjoyment's gale, 
Let's tak the tide. 



ROBERT BURNS. 101 

This life, sae far's I understand, 
Is a' enchanted fairy-land, 
Where Pleasure is the Magic Wand, 

That, wielded right, 
Maks Hours like Minutes, hand in hand, 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd, 
See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild, 

Wi' wrinkl'd face, 
Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, 

Wi' creeping pace. 

When ance life'*6 day draws near the gloamin, 
Then fareweel vacant, careless roamin ; 
An' fareweel chearfu' tankards foamin. 

An' social noise ; 
An' fareweel dear, deluding ivoman, 

The joy of joys ! 

O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning. 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! 
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning. 

We frisk away. 
Like school-boys at th' expected warning, 
To joy and play. 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier. 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

A-mang the leaves ; 
And tho' the puny wound appear. 

Short while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, 
For which they never toil'd nor swat ; 
They drink the sweet and eat the fat j 

But care or pain ; 
Andj haply, eye the barren hut 

With, high disdain. 



102 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

With steady aim, some Fortune chase : 
Keen Hopes does ev'ry sinew brace; 
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, 

And seize the prey : 
Then cannie, in some cozie place, 

They close the day. 

And others, like your humble servan', 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin ; 
To right or left, eternal swervin. 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin? 

They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
But truce with peevish, poor complaining 1 
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning ? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining, 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here {ling to the door, 
And kneel, * Ye Pow'rs ! and warm implore 5 

* Tho' I should wander Terra o'er, 

* In all her climes, 

* Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

' Ay rowth o' rhymes. 

' Gie dreeping roasts to countra Lairds, 
« Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 
< Gie fine braw claes to fine Life-guards, 

* And Maids of Honor : 
^ And yill an* whisky c?:ie to Cairds, 

' Until they sconner. 

« A Title, Demfidter merits it ; 

* A Garter gie to Willie Pin ; 

' Gie Wealth to some be-ledger'd Cit, 
' In cent, per cent. ; 

* But give me real. Sterling Wit, 

' And I'm content. 



liOBERT BURNS. IQc 



« While Ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, 

* I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 

* Be't ivater-brose, or muslin-kail^ 

' Wi' chearfii' face, 

* As lang's the Muses dinna fail 

' To say the grace.' 

An anxious e'e I never throws 
Behint my lug, or by my nose : 
I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows 

As weers I may ; 
Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose, 
I rhyme away. 

O yc douce folk, that live by rule, 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
Compar'd wi' you — O fool I fool I fool ! 

How nmch unlike ! 
Vour hearts are just a standing pool. 

Your lives a dyke ! 

Nae hair-bi'ain'd, sentimental traces, 
In your unletter'd nameless fiices ! 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray. 
But gravissimo^ solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 

Ye are sae grave^ nae doubt ye're tvlse :, 
Nae ferly tho' you do despise 
The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, 

The rattling squad : 
I see ye upward cast your eyes — 

— Ye ken the road — 

Whilst I — but I shall baud me there — • 
Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony nvhere — 
Then, Jamie^ I shall say nae mair 

But quat my sang, 
Content with You to mak a pair. 

Whare'er 1 gang. 



104 I'HE POETICAL WORKS OF 



DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF 

POOR MAILIE, 
THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOAVE. 

An Unco Moui*nfu' Tale. 

AS Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, 
Was ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
An* owre she warsl'd in the ditch ; 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Hughoc * he carne doytin by. 

Wi* glowrin een, an' lifted ban's, 
Poor Hughoc like a statue Stan's ; 
He saw her days were near hand ended. 
But, waes my heart ! he could na mend it ? 
He gaped wide, but naething spak, 
At length poor Mailie silence brak : 

* O thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu* case I 
My dijing nvorda attentive hear. 
An' bear them to my master dear. 

' Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 
But ca' them out to park or hill. 
An' let them wander at their will : 
So may his flock increase, an' grow 
To scores o' laii.bs, an' packs o' woo* ! 

* A neebor herd-callan. 



ROBERT BUR:N'S, 105 

* Tell him, he was a Muster kin', 
An' uy was guid to me an' mine ; 
Aii' now my ciyin;^ charge 1 gie him, 
My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' hini- 

< O, bid him save their harmless lives, 
F?' le dot^s an' tods, an' buichers knives ! 
Bu'' gie them guid cow-milk, their fiil. 
Till they be fit to fend themsel ; 
An' tent them duly e'en an' morn, 
Wi' teats o* hay an' rips o' corn. 

' An' may they never learn the gaets 
Of ither vile, wanrestfu' tiets I 
To slink ti>ro' slaps, an' reave an' steal, 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great Forbears, 
For monie a year come thro' the sheers: 
So wives will ^ie them bits o' bread. 
An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. 

* My poor toofi-lamb^ my son on' heii'j 
O, bid him breed him up wi' care \ 
An' if he live to be d beast. 

To pit some havins in his breast ! 
An' warn him, what I winna name, 
To stay content wi' yowes at harae ; 
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, 
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes, 

* An' neist my yowie^ silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
"VVi' ony blastit, moorland toop ; 

But ay keep mind to moop an' meli 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 



' And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath; 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith : 
An' when you think upo' your Mither, 
INlind to be kind to ane anither. 



JQ5 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

' Now, honest Hug/ioc, dinna fail 
To tell my Master a' my tale ; 
An' bid hi burn this cursed tether, 
An* for thy pains thoii'se get my blather.' 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, 
An' clos'd her een amang the dead ! 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

LAMENT in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; 
Our Bardie's fate is at a close, 

Past a* remead4 
The last, sad cape-stane of his woes ; 

Poor Mailie* 8 dead. 

Its no the loss o' v/arl's gear. 
That cou'd sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak our Bardie, dowie, wear 

The mourning weed : 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear, 
In Mailie dead. 



Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him ; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him. 

She ran wi' speed : 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er came nigh him, 

Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense. 
An' could behave hersel wi' mense: 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence. 

Thro' thievish greed : 
©ur Bardie, lanely, keeps the Spence 
Sin' Maine's dead. 



ROBERT BURNS. X07 



Or, if he wanders'iip the howe, 
Her living i iiage in her yoive^ 
Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe. 

For bits o' bread ; 
An' down the briny pearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips, 
Wi' tauted ket, an' hairy hips : 
For her forbears were brought in ships, 
Fraeyontthe Twetd: 
A bonier Jieesh ne'er cross d the clips 
Than Mailie* s dead. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile, wanchancie thing — a rape I 
It iiaks guid fellows giro an' gape 

Wi' chokin dread : 
An' Robin*s bonnet wave wi' crape 
For Mailie dead. 

O, a' ye Bards on bonie D0071 / 
An' wha on ^yr your chunters tune ! 
Come, join the melncholious cioon 

O Rodin fi reed ! 
His heart will never get aboon ! 

His Maine's dead. 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 

O Prince ! O chief of many throned Pow'rs, 
That led th' embattl'd Seraphim to war 



MlLTO^", 



O THOU ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hoinie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie. 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under haxhes, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie, 

To scaud poor wretches ! 



JOS THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Hear me, auld ffangiey for a wee, 
An' Itt poor, damned bodies be; 
I';t. sure sma* pleasure it can gie, 

Ev*n to a deil. 
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 

An' hear us squeel I 

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame ; 
Far kend an' noted is thy name ; 
An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame. 

Thou travels far ; 
An' faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur. 

Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion, 
por prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whyles, on the strong- wing'd Tempest flyiti- 

Tiriin the kirks ; 
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin. 
Unseen thou l«rks. 

I've heard ny reverend Grannie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
Or where auld, ruin'd castles, gray. 

Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rers w^y, 

Wi' eldritch croon. 

When twilight did my Grannie summos, 
To say her pray'rs, douce, honest woman ! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries comin, 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 
Th • stars shot down wi' sklentin light; 
Wi you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

Ayont the lough ; 
Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, 

Wi* waving sugh. 



ROBERT BURNS', 109 

The cudgel in my nieve did shake, 
Each bristl'd hair stook like a stake. 
When wi* an eldritch, stoor quaick, quaicfcj 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter'd like a drake, 

On whistling wingSo 

Let warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags^ 
Tell how wi* you on ragweed nags. 
They skim the muirs an' dizzy crugs, 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leayjues, 

Owre howkit dead. 

Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' pain^ 
M.iy plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain ; 
For, Oh I the yellow treasure's taen 

By witching skill ; 
An' dawtit, twal-pint Haivkie'^s gaen 
As yell's the Bill. 

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse, 
On young Guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse ; 
When the best wark-lume i' tlie house, 

By cantraip wit, , 
Is instant made no worth a louse, 
Just at the bit. 

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, 
An' float the jinglin icy-board, 
Then, Water-keljiies haunt the foord, 
By your direction, 
An' nighted Trav'liers are aliur'd 

To their destruction. 

An' aft your moss-traversing Sfiunkies 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is: 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies. 

Delude, his eyes. 
Till in some miry slouj^^h he sunk is, 
Ne'er mair to rise. 



1 10 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

When Masons mystic ivord an* grifiy 
In storms an* tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, 
Or, strange to tell i 
The youngest Brother ye wad whip 

Aff straught to h-U 

Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'dj 
An* all the Soul of Love they shar'd, 
The raptur'd hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow*ry swaird, 
In shady bow*r : 

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog I 
Ye cam to Paradise incog, 
An' play*d on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa' !) 
An' gied the infant warld a shog, 

'Maist ruin*d a*. 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizzj 
WV reekit duds, an* reestit gizz. 
Ye did present your st.-.outie phiz, 

*Mang better folk, 
An' sklented on the man of Uzz 

Your spite fu' joke ? 

Ah' how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
An' brak him out o' house an' hal*. 
While scabs an* botches did him gall, 

VVi' bitter claw. 
An' lows'd, his ill-tonguM wicked Scawl> 

Was warst ava ? 

But a' your doings to rehearse. 
Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce, 
Sin* that day Michatl* did you pierce, 

Down to this time, 
Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rnyme. 

* Vide Maton, Book \T 



ROBERT BUJRNS. HI 

An* now, aukl Cloots^ I ken ye're thinkin, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin, 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith I he'll turn a corner jinkin, 

An' cheat you yet. 

But, fare you weel, auld JVlcUe-ben I 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 
Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake-^ 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

Ev'n for your sake ! 



A DREAM. 



Thoughts, words, and deeds, the Statute blames with reason ; 
But surely Dreams were ne'er indicted Treason. 

£0n reading) in the fiuhlic fiapersy the Laureate's Ode, 
ivith the other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no 
sooner drofit asleefi^ than he imagined himself transport- 
ed to the Birth-day Levee; and^ in his dreaming fancy ^ 
made the following address. J 

GUID-MORNIN to your Majesty ! 

May Heaven augment your blisses, 
On ev'ry new Birth-day ye see, 

A humble Bardie wishes ! 
My Bardship here, at your Levee, 

On sic a day as this is. 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 

Amang the Birth-day dresses 

Sae fine this day. 



112 THB POETICAL WORKS Ox 

I see ye're cor plimented thrang, 

By m.Jiy a lord dii' lady ; 
< God save ihe King 1' 's a cuckoo sang 

That's unco e^sy said ay : 
The roetsy too, a venal g-ng, 

Wi' rhymes weel-tuin'd and ready, 
"Wad gar you tiovv ye ne'er do wrang, 

But ay unerring steady v 

0K sic a day. 

For me ! before a Monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna flutter; 
For neither Pension, Post, nor Place, 

Am I your humble debtor: 
So' ncte reflection on Your Grace, 

Ygur Kiniiship to bespatter; 
There's nionie waur been o' the Race, 

And aiblins ane been better 

Than You this day. 

*Tis very true, my sovereign King, 

My skill may weel be doubled : 
But Facts are Chiels that winna 'ding, 

An' downa be disputed : 
Your Royal Nest, beneath Your wing, 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 
And now the third part of the string, 

An' less, will gang about it. 

Than did ae day. 

Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your Legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty nation ; 
But, faith 1 I muckle doubt, my Sire, 

Ye've trusted Ministration 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, 

Wad better fili'd their station 

Than courts yon day. 



ROBERT BURNS. ii> 



And now ye've gien auld Britain peace. 

Her broken shins to plaister ; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 

Till she has scarce a tester : 
For me, thank God, my life's a ieascj 

Nae bargain wearing faster, 
Or, faith ! I fear, that wi' the geese, 

I shortly boost to pasture 

1' the craft Some day, 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt^ 

Whea taxes he enlarges, 
(An* Will's a true guid fallow's Get,. 

A Name not Envy spairges,) 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

An* lessen a' your charges, 
But, G — d sake ! let nae saving-Jit 

Abridge your bonie Barges 

An* Boats this day. 

Adieu, my Liege ! may Freedom geek 

Beneath your high protection; 
An' may Ye rax Corruption's neck, 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen^ with due respect. 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great Birth-day. 

Hail, Majesty most Excellent ! 

While Nobles strive to please Ye, 
Will ye accept a Compliment 

A simple Bardie gies Ye ? 
Thae bonie Bairntime, Heav'n has lent? 

Still higher may they heeze Ye 
In bliss, till Fate some day. is sent. 

For ever to release Ye 

Frae Care that day, 

L3 



114 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

For you, younpj Potentate o' W s, 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, 

I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nail?, 

An' curse your folly sairly, 
That e'er ye brak Diana*s pales, 

Or rattl'd dice ^V ChaHie 

By night or day. 

Yet aft a ragged CQrjte\s been known 

To mak a noble Ji-ver ; 
So, ye may doucely fill a Throne, 

For a' their clish-ma-claver ; 
There, Him * at Agincourt wha shone. 

Few better were or braver ; 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John f, 

He was an unco shaver, 

For monie a day. 

For you, right rev 'rend O g^ 

Nane sets the laivn sleeve sweeter, 
Altho' a ribban at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty dog 

That bears the keys o' Peter, 
Then, swith! an' get a wife to hug, 

Or, trowth ! ye^U stain the Mitre 

Some luckless day= 

Young, royal Tarry-Breeks^ I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her ; 
A glorious Galley \^ stem and stern, 

Wecl rigg'd for Venus'* barter ; 
But first hang out, that she'll discern, 

Your hymeneal charter, 
Then heave abrot.d your grapple airn. 

An', large upon her riuarter 

Come full that day 

* King- Henry V. f Sir John Folstaff. Vide Shakespeare. 

:^ Alluding to the News-paper aecoont of a certain Royal S&ii- 
•r's amoui'. 



ROBERT BURNS. 115 



Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a*, 

Ye royal Lasses d unty, 
Heav'n mak you guid us vveel as braw, 

An' gie you lads a plenty : 
But sneer na British boys awa*, 

For Kings are unco scant ay ; 
An' Gernan Gentles are but sina\ 

They're better just than want ay 
On onie day. 

GoH bless you a' ! consider now, 

Ye're unco muckle dautet ; 
But ere the course o' life be through, 

It may be bitter sautet : 
An' I hae seen their coggie fou, 

That yet hae tarrow't at it ; 
But or the day was done, I trow. 

The iaggen they hae clautet 

Fu' clean that day, 



TO MISS L- 



With Beattie's Poems ybr a JVew-Year^s Gift. 

JAN. 1, 1787. 

AGAIN the silent wheels of time 

Their annu li round have driv'n, 
Anc' you, tho* scarce in maiden prime, 

Are so much nearer H-jav'n. 

No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infunt year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts 

In Edwin's si^iple tale. 

Our Sex with guile and futhless love 

Is chcirg'd, perhaps too true ; 
But mciy, dear M 'id, each Lover prove 

An Edwin siiii to you. 



116 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



THE following POEM will, by many Readers, be well enough 
understood ; but, for the sake of those who are unacquainted 
with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene 
is cast, Notes are added, to give some account of the principal 
Charms and spells of that night, so big with Prophecy to the Pea- 
santry in the West of Scotland. The passion of prying into Fu- 
turity makes a striking part of the history of Human Nature, in 
its rude state, in all ages and nations ; and it may be some enter- 
tainment to a philosophic mind, if any such should honour the Au- 
thor with a perusal, to see the remains of it, among the more un- 
enlightened in our own. 



HALLOWEEN*. 



Yes ! let the Rich deride, the Proud disdain. 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train ; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art ! 

Goldsmith, 

UPON that night, when Fairies light, 

On Cassilis Doivnans f dance, 
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 

On sprightly coursers prance ^ 
Or for Colean the rout is taen, 

Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
There, up the Cove X^ to stray an* rove, 
^ Amang the rocks an' streams 
** To sport that night. 

* Is thought to be a night when Witches, Devils, and other mis- 
chief-making beings, are all abroad on their baneful midnight er- 
rands ; particularly, those aerial people, the Fairies, are said, on 
that night, to hold a grand Anniversary. 

f Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbour- 
hood of the ancient seat of the Earl of Cassilis • 

i A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Colean ; 
which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed, io country story, fos 
being a favoui'ite haunt oi Fairies. 



ROBERT KURNS-. 1 1 7 

Amang the bonie, winding banks, 

Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear, 
Where Bruce* ance rul'd the nriartial ranks, 

An* shook his Carrick soear, 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks. 

Together did convene, 
To burn their nits, an' fiou their stocks, 

An' baud their IMloween 

Fu' biythe that night. 

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine ; 
Their faces biythe, fu' sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin' : 
The lads sae trig, wi' \yooer-babs, 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Soi'e unco Ulate, an' some wi' gabs, 

Gar lasses hearts gang startin 

Whyles tast at night* 

Then, first an* foremost, thro* the kiiil, 

Their atocks \ maun a' be sougiit ance ; 
They steek their een, an' grape un' wale. 

For muckle anes, an' stiaught anes : 
Poor hav'rel Will fell atf the' drift. 

An' vvander'd thro' the Bow-kail^ 
An' pou't for want o^ better shift, 

A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't that night. 

* The famous family of that name. the. ancestors of liohert^ the 
great Deliverer of his country, were earls of Carrick. 

f The first ceremony of Halloween, is pulling each a Stock^QV 
plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, wirh eyes shut, 
arid pull the first they meet with : its being big or little,' straight 
or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the i^rand object 
of all their Spells — the h>isbrxnd or wife. If -awx yird or earth 
stick to the root, that is Tocher, or Fortune ; and 'he lasie of the 
custoc, that is the heart of the Stem, is indicative <.f the natural 
temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, vo give them their 
ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed somewhere above the 
head of the door ; and the Christian names of the peupi whom 
chance briniirs into the house, arc, according to th.e priority of 
placing the Himts, the names in question. 



118 THB POETICAL WORKS OF 

Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane. 

They roar an' cry a' throuther ; 
The vera wee-things, toddlin, rin, 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther : 
An* gif the custock*8 sweet or sour, 

Wi* joctelegs they taste them ; 
Syne coziely, aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care they've piac*fl them 
To He that night. 

The lasses staw frae *mang them a% 

To pou their stalks o' coi-n * ; 
But Rub slips out, and jinks about> 

Behint the muckle thorn : 
Jle grippet Nelly hard an' fast ; 

Loud skirlM a* the lasses ; 
But her tafi-fiickle maist was lost, 

When kiutlin in the Fause-house f 
Wi' him that night. 

The auld Guldwlfe's weel-hoordet niis \ 

Are round an* round divided, 
An* monie lads an' lasses fates 

Are there that night decided : 
Some kindle, couthie, side by side, 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa, wi' saucy pride, 

An* jump out-owre the chimlie 

Fu* high that night. 

* They g"o to the barn-yard, and pull each, at three severaT 
times, a stalk of Oats. If the third stalk wants the top-pickle, that 
is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come 
to the marriage -bed any thing but a Maid. 

f When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green or 
wet, the stack-builder, by means of old timber, &c. makes a large 
apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which is fair- 
est exposed to the wind : this he calls a Fauae-house. 

\ Burning the nuts- is a favourite charm. They name the lad and 
lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire ; and ac- 
cording as they burn quietly tog-ether, or start from beside one a- 
nother, the course and issue of the Courtship will be. 



ROBERT BURNS. 1J9 

Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e*e ; 

Wha *twas, she wadna tell ; 
But this is Jock^ an* this is me. 

She says in to hersel : 
He bleez'd owre her, and she owre him, 

As they wad never mair part, 
Till fuff ! he started up the lum, 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 

To see't that night. 

Poor Willie, wi* his bow-kail runt^ 

Was brunt wi* primsie Maillie ; 
An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Willie : 
Mall's nit lap out' wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her ain fit it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap, an' swoor byjing^ 

'Twas just the way he wanted 

To be that night. 

Nell had the Fause-house in her min'. 

She pits hersel an* Rob in; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in ase they're sobbin ; 
Neil's heart was dancin at the view ; 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't; 
Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonie mou, 

Fu' cozie in the neuk for't. 

Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
She lea'es them gashin at their cracks, 

An' slips out by hersel : 
She thro' the yard the nearest taks, 

An' to the kiln she goes then. 
An' darklins grapit for the bauks. 

And in the Blue-clue * throws then. 

Right fear't that night. 

• Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly ob- 
lerve these directions : Steal out, all alone, to tht. kiln, and, dark- 
ing, throw mto \h^ pot a clue of blue yarn ; wind it in a v^f^vj 



120 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat, 

I wad she made nae jaukin ; 
Till something held within the pat, 

Guid L — d ! but she was quakin ! 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsel, 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en*, 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin 

To spier that niglu. 

Wee Jenny to her Grannie says, 
' Will ye go wi' me, Grannie ? 

< I'll cat the afifile * at the glass^ 

' I gat frae uncle Johnie :' 
She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt. 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin, 
She notic'l na, an aizle brunt 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro' that night. 

* Ye little Skelpie-limmc's face I 
' I daur you try sic sportin, 

< As seek the foul Thief onie place, 

' For him to spae your fortune : 
« Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

*- Great cause ye hae to fear it; 
« For monie a ane has gotten a fright, 

' An' liv'd an' di'd deleeret, 

* On sic a night. 

< Ae Hairst afore the Sherra-moor, 

' I miud't as weefs yestreen, 
« I was a gilpey then, I'm sure 
< 1 was na past fyfteen: 

clew off the old one ; and, towards the latter end, something' 
will hold the thread : demand, -who hands P i. e. who holds ? and 
answer will be returned fi'om the kiln- pot, by naming the Chris- 
tian and Surname of your future Spouse. 

* Take a candle, and go alone to a looking,' glass ; eat an apple 
before it, and some traditions say, you should comb your hair 
all the time ; the face of your conjugal companion, to be, will be 
seen in the ghiss, as if peeping over your shoulder. 



RORERT P. URNS. 121 

< The Simmer had been caulcl an' wal, 

* All' stuff was unco green ; 

< An* ay a rantin kirn we gat, 

* All* just on Halloween 

< It fell that night. 

< Our Stibble-rig was Rab M'Gruen, 

* A clever, sturdy fallow; 

« Hia Sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

* rhat liv'd in Achmacalla : 

< He gat hem/i'seed *, I ;Tiind it wee I, 

* An' he made unco light o't; 

< But monic a day was by himself 

« He was sae sairly frighted, 

* That vera night.' 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience, 
That he could saiv hem/i-seed a peck ; 

For it was a* but nonsense : 
The auld guidman raught down the pock, 

An' out a' handfu' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, 

Sometime when nae ane see'd him, 
An' try't that night. 

He marches thro' amang the stacks, 

Tho* he was something sturtin; 
The >^rai/i he for a harrow taks. 

An' hciurls at his cur pin : 
And ev\y now an' then, he says, 

* Hemp-seed I s.w thee, 

« An' her that is to be my lass, 

* Come after me an' dr .w rhee 

< As fast this night.* 

* Steal out unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed ; har- 
rowing it with any thing- you can conveniently draw after you. 
Repeat, now nnd then, " Hemp-seed I saw thet- , Hemp-seed I skw 
*' tiiee ; and lnm (or her) iha' is to be my true love, come aficr 
*' me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder, and you wili 
see the appearance of" th<' p.-rson'ir>voke.l, in the attitude of pul- 
hwj; hemp. Svme traditions say, •' Come after me and shaw thee," 
that is, s])ovv rh\'9elf'; in wliich cas-"^ it simply appett-s. Otiiers 
omit the harrowing, and say, " C^ime after me and iiarrow the^ " 

M 



<i22 THE POETICAL WORKS Ot 

He whisll*cl up Lord Lennox' march, 

To keep his courage cheary ; 
Altho' his hair began to arch, 

He was sae fley'd an' eerie : 
Till presently he hears a squeak. 

An' then a grane an' gruntle ; 
He by his shouther gae a keek, 

An' tumbl'd \vi' a wintle 

Out-owi'c that night. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation! 
An' young an' auld come rinnin out, 

An' hear the sad narration : 
He swore 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a' ; 

An' wha was it but Grumfihie 

Asteer that night I 

Meg fain wad to the Barn gaen, 

To ivinn three nvechts o' naething * ; 
But for to meet the Deil her lane, 

She pat but little faith in : 
She gies the Herd a pickle nits, 

An' twa red cheekit apples, 
To watch, while for the Barn she sets. 

In hopes to see Tarn Kipples 

That vera night. 

* This charm must likewise be performed, unperceived and a- 
lone. You go to the Barn, and open both doors, taking- them off 
the hinges if possible ; for there is danger, that the being-, about 
to appear, may shut the doors, and do you some mischief Then 
take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, in our 
country dialect, we call a JVecht, and go thro* all the attitudes of 
letting down Corn against the wind. Repeat it three times ; and 
the third time, an apparition will pass thro' the Barn, in at the 
windy door, and out at the other, having both ihe figure in ques- 
tion, and the appearance or retinae, marking the employment or 
?»tiition in life. 



ROBERT BURNS. 123 

She turns the key, wi* cannie thraw, 

An' owre the threshold ventures ; 
But first on Sawnie gics a ca', 

Syne bauldly in she enters : 
A ration rattl'd up the wa', 

An' she cry'd, L — d preserve her ! 
An' ran thro' midden-hole and a', 

An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour, 

Fu' fast that night. 

They hoy't out Will, wi* sair advice ; 

They hecht hi.n some fine braw ane ! 
It chanc'd the Stack YiQ faddom^ t thrice *, 

Was timmer-propt for thravvin : 
He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak, 

For some black, grousome Carlin ; 
An' loot a winze, an"* drew a stroke, i 

Till skin in biypes cam haurlin 

Aif's nieves that night. 

A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As cantie as a kitllin ; 
But, Och I that night, amang the shawsj 

She gc-.t a fearfu' settlin ! 
She thro' tJie whins, an' by the cairn, 

An' owre the hill gacd scrievin, 
Wh-.tre three Laird's lands met at a burn f, 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent that night. 

* Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a Bear-stach, and 
fathom it three times round. Tlie last fathom of t!ie lasl-time, 
yod will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conju* 
g^al yoke-fellov/. 

t You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south - 
running springer rivulet, vhere " three Lairds' lands meet," and 
dip your left shirt-sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang' 
your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake ; and, some time near 
midnight, an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand ob- 
ject in question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the a- 
ther side of it. 



124 THE POETICAL WORKS OP 

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, 

As thro' ihe glen it wimpl't; 
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays j 

Whyles in a wiel it dinipl't ; 
Whyles glitter'd to the nij^hlly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
Whyles cookit undenicatli tlse braes, 

Below the spreading hazle, 

Unseen that night. 

Amang the brachens, on the brae, 

Between her an' the moon, 
The Deil, or else an outler Quey, 

Gut up an' gae a croon : 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ; 

Near lav'rock-height she jumpit, 
But mist a fit, an' in the Pool 

Out-owre the lugs she plum pit, 

Wi' a plunge that night. 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The lAtggies three * are ranged ; 
At/ ev'ry u-.-se grc^t care is taenj 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld uncle John, whx wedlock's joys 

Sin* Alarms-year did desire, 
Because he gat the toom dish thrice, 

He iieav/d them on the fire. 

In wrath that night. 

Wi' merry sangs, an' Oiendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary: « 
And unco talcs, an' fuimie-jokes, 

Their sporB were cheap un' t,heary : 

* Take tlu'ee dishes ; put clt.Hn water in one, foul water In aue- 
ther, and leave the third empty : blindfold a person, and lead him 
to the hearth where the diihes are rs'.n.^ed ; lie (or she) dips the 
lefc hand ; if by chraice in the clean witter^ the fuiure hnsbund or 
wife wUl come to the bar of Matrimony a maid ; if in the foul, a 
widow: if in the empty dish, if foretells, with equal certainty, no 
marrictge at all. Ii is repealed livree times ; and every ti.2ne the 
arrangement of the difshes is altered. 



ROBERT BURNS. 13^ 



Till buttered So^ns *, \vi' fragrant lunt, 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin ; 
Syne, wi' a social glass o* strunti, 

They parted aft' careerin 

Fu' biythe that night. 



A WINTER NIGHT. 



Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are. 
That bide the pelting- of this pityless storm ! 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides. 
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these 



Shakespeari;, 



WHEN biting Boreas^ fell and doure, 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow*r ; 
When Phcebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r, 

Far south the lift, 
Dim-dark*ning thro' the flaky show*r, 
Or whirling drift. 

Ae night the Storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns, wi' snawy wreeths up-choked^ 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
Or thro' the mining outlet booked, 

Down headlong hurl. 

Listening, the doors an' winnocks rattle^ 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war. 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle. 

Beneath a scar. 



* Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always tBe 

ffalloweett Supper. 

M2 



126 THE POETICAL WOIiKS ©F 

Ilk happing bird, wee helpless thing ! 
That, in the n.erry months o' Spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee ? 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing, 
An' close thy e'e ? 

Ev'n you on murd*ring errands toil'd, 
Lone from your savage homes exil'd, 
The blood-stain*d roost, and sheep-cote spoii'd, 

My heart forgets, 
While pityless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now Phabe^ in her midnight reign, 
Durk-muffl'd, view'd the dreary plain ; 
Still crouding thoughts, a pensive train, 

Rose in my soul, 
W^hen on my car this plaintive strain, 

Slow-solemn, stole — 

* Blow, blow, ye Winds, with heavier gust I 

♦ And freeze, thou bitter-biting Frost ! 

* Descend, ye chilly, s .othering Snows! 

* Not all your rage, as now, united shows 

* More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 

* Vengeful malice, unrepentlng, 

< Than heaven-iliuniin*d Man on brother Man bestows ! 

« See stern Oppression's iron grip, 

* Or mad Ambition's gory iiand, 

* Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 

' Woe, Want, and Murder o'er a land! 

< E'vn in the peaceful rural vale, 

< Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 

• How pamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry by her side, 

* The parasite empoisoning her ear, 

» With all the servile wretches in the rear, 

• Looks o'er proud Property, extended wide; 

* And eyes the simple, rustic Hind, 

* Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, 
' A creature of another kind, 

* Some coarser substance, unrefin'd, 

♦Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below i 



ROBERT BURNS. ij27 

< Where, where is Love*s fond tender throe, 
' Willi lordly Honor's lofty brow, 

< The pow'rs you proudly own ? 

* Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 

* Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 

* To bless himself alone ! 

* Mark Maiden-innocence a prey 

* To love-pretending snares, 

< This boasted Honor turns aw.y, 

« Shunning soft Pity's rising sway, 

* Regardless of the tears, and unavailing pray'rs ! 

< Perhaps, this hour, in Mis'ry's squalid nest, 

< She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 

* And with a Mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast ! 

* Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, 

» Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 

* Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 

* Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! 

* Ill-satisfyM, keen Nature's clam'rous call, 

* Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, 

* While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 

* Chill, o'er his slumbers, piles the drifty heap I 

* Think on the dungeon's gri i confine, 

* Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine ! 

* Guilt, erring Man, relenting view I 

* But shall thy legal rage pursue 

< The Wretch, already crushed low 

' By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow ? 

* Affliction's sons are brothers in distress ; 

* A Brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss i* ^ 

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 

Shook off the pouthery snaw, 
And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 

A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impress'd my mind— - 

Thro' all his works abroad. 
The heart benevolent and kind 

Tiie most resembles God, 



128 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

A DEDICATION 

TO G -N H ^LT— N,Esq. 

EXPECT na, Sir, in this narration, 
A fleechin, fleth'rin Dedication, 
To roose you up, an' ca' you guid, 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid ; 
Because ye're sirnam'd like His grace, 
Perhaps related to the race : 
Then when I'm tir'd — and sae are t/c, 
Wi' monie a fulsome, sinfu' lie, 
Set up a face, how I stopt short, 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 

This may do — maun do, Sir, wi' them wha 
Maun please the Great Folk for a wamefou ; 
For me ! sae laigh I need na bow, 
For, Lord be thankit, / ca7i plough ; 
And when I downa yoke a naig, 
Then, Lord be thankit, / can beg ; 
Sae I shall say, and that's nae flatt'rin. 
It's just sic Poet an' sic Patron. 

The Poet, some guid Angel help him, 
Or else, I fear, some ill anc skclp him ! 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet, 
But only — he's no just begun yet. 

The Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I "vfinna lie, come what will o' me) 
On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be, 
He's just— nae better than he shou'd bc: 

I readily and freely grant, 
He downa see a poor man want ; 
What's no his ain, he winna tak it ; 
What ance he says, he winna break it > 



UOBERT BURNS. 12^ 

Ought he can lend he'll no refus't, 
Till aft liis guidness is abused ; 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Kv'n that^ he does na mind it lane; : 
As Master, Landlord, Husband, Father, 
He does na fail his part in either. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that; 
Nae godly sym/itom ye can ca' that ; 
It's naething but a milder feature. 
Of our poor, sinfu' corrupt Nature : 
Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 
*Mang black Gciitoos, and Pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Fono(axiy 
Wha never heard of Orthodoxy. 
That he's the poor man's friend in need, 
The Gentleman in word and deed, 
It's no thro' terror of D-mn-t~n j 
lt*s just a carnal inclination. 

Morality, thou deadly bane, 
Tbv tt US o* thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vam is his hope, whase stay cin' iru^t is 
In moral Mercy, Truth and Justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; 
Abuse a Brother to his back ; 
Steal thro' the ivinnock frae a wh-re, 
But point the Rake that taks the door : 
Be to the Poor like onie whunstane, 
And hand their noses to the grunstane ; 
Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; 
No matter-~stick to tound believing. 

Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile graces, 
Wi' weel-spreud looves, an' lang, wry faces ; 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan. 
And damn a' Parties but your own ; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae Deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch Believer. 



130 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

O ye wha leave the springs o' Calvw^ 
¥or gianlie duds of your ain clelviii ! 
Ye sons of Heresy and Error, 
Yc'll some day squeel in quaking terror 1 
"When V^engeance draws the sword in wrath, 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom^ 
Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him ; 
While o'er the Harji pale Mis'ry moans, 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I maist forgat my Dedication ; 
Bur when Divinity comes cross me, 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, you see 'twas nae daft vapour, 
But I maturely thought it proper, 
Wncn a' my works I did review, 
Tt) dedicate them Sir, to You: 
Bcc luse (ye need na tak it ill) 
I tiiought them something iike yoursel. 

Tlien patronize them wi' your favor, 

And your Petitioner shall ever 

I --ad amaist s.dd, ever firay^ 

But. that's a woi'd I need na say : 

For praym I nae litttle skill o't ; 

I'uj baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't; 

But I'se repeat each poor ,. an's firai/r^ 

That kens or hears about you, Sir 

< May ne'er Misfortune's gowling bark, 
« H',wl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk I 
< May ne'er his gren'rous, honest heart, 

* For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 

* May K *s far-honour'd name 

* Lang beet his hymeneal flame, 

« Till H It — n's, at le. sr a diz'n, 

* Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 



} 



} 



ROBERT BURNS. 13| 

* Fivie bonie Lasses round their table, 

< And sev'n braw Fellows, stout an' able, 

* To serve their King an' Country weel, 
« By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 

< Muy Health and Peace, with mutual rays, 

< Shine on the ev'ning o' his days ! 
« Till his wee, curlie John's ier-oe, 
« When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
' The last, sad, mournful rites bestow !' 

I will not wind a lang conclusion, 
With complimentary effusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavours, 
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favourr.; 
I am, Dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which Pow*rs above prevent) 
That iron-hearted Carl, Wa7it^ 
Attended, in his grim advances. 
By sad mistakes, and black a.ischances, 
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, 
Make you as poor a dog as I am. 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the Poor ? 
But, by a poor man's hopes in Heav n ! 
While recollection's pow'r is giv'n, 
If, in the vale of humble life, 
The victim sad of Fortune*s strife, 
I, thro' the tender-gushing tear. 
Should recognise my Master dear,. 
If friendless, low, we meet together. 
Then, Sir, your hand — my /^"riend and Brother 1 



132 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

EPISTLE TO J. RANKIN, 

Inclosing- some Poems. 

O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Pankin, 
The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin ! 
There's monie godly folks are thinkin, 

Your dreamii * an* tricks . 
Will send you, Koiah-like, a-sinkin, 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Y« hae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
^And in your wicked, druken rants. 
Ye mak a devil o' the Saunts, 

An' fill them fou ; 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, 
Are a* seen thro'. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 
That holy robe, dinna tear it ! 
Spare't for their sakes wha aften wear it, 

The lads in black ; 
But your curst wit, when it comes ne»r it, 
Rives't aff their back. 

Think, wicked Sinner, wha ye're sk'-.ithing, 
Is just the Blue-gown badge an' claithing 
O* Sc.unts ; tak that, ye Ica'e them naething 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate Heatiien, 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargained for, an' mnir ; 
S. e, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

1 Will expect, 
Yon Sang f ye'U sen't, wi' cannie care, 

And no neglect. 

* A certain humorous dream of his was then making" a noise in 
the country-side. 

f A son^ he had promised the Author. 



IIOBBRT BURNS. 133 



Tho' faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ! 
My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing t 
I've play'd mysel a bonie spiing, 

An' danc'd my fill ! 
I*d better gaen and sair*t the king, 

At Bunker^s Hill. 

'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 
J gaed a roving vvi'the gun, 
An' brought a Paitrick tu the grun', 

A bonie hen, 
And, as the twilight was begun. 

Thought n<ine wad ken. 

The poor, wee think was little hurt s 
I str iikit it a wee for sport, 
Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't ; 

Bui, Deil-ma-care : 
Somebody tells the Poacht-r-court 

The hale itffair. 

Some auld, us'd hands had taen a notCj 
Thit sic a hen had got a shot ; 
J was suspected for the plot; 

I scorn'd to lie ; 
So gat the whissle o* my groar., 

An' pay 't the. /e^. 

But, by my gun, o* guns the wale, 
An' by my pouther an' my hail, 
An' by my hen, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 
The Game shall p.-y, o'er moor an' dale. 

For this, niest year. 

As soon's the clockin-time is by, 
An' the wee pouts begun to cry, 
L — d, Ps hae sportin by an' by. 

For my gowd guinea i 
Tho' I should herd the buckskin kyo 
For't, in VirgiiUr\ 
N 



134 



THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



Trowth, they had muckle for to blame 1 
*Twtis neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three clri».ps about the wame 

Scarce thro' the feathers ; 
An' baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their blethers ? 

It pits me aye as mad's a hare ; 
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 
But Pennyworths again is fair. 

When time's expedient : 
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

Your most obedient. 



EPISTLE TO J. I^PRATK, 

AN OLD SCOTCH BARD. 

^pril 1, 1785, 

WHILE briers an' woodbines budding green, 
An' Paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, 
And morning Poussie whiddin seen, 

Inspire my Muse, 

in unknown frie 

I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-een we had a rockin, 
To ca' the crack and weave our stockiu ^ 
And there was muckle fun an jokin. 

Ye need na doubt ; 
At length we had a hearty yokin 
At aang about. 

There was ae sang^ amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it p.eas'd me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

l"o some sweet wife: 
It thirl'd the heart-strings ihro' the breast^ 

A' to the hie. 



ROBERT BURNS. 135 

I*ve scarce heard ought described sae weel, 
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel; 
Thought I, * Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

< Or Beattie's wark ?* 
They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel 
About Muirkirk. 

It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't; 
An' sae about him there I spier't ; 
Then a' that ken't him round declar'dj 

He had ingine^ 
That nane excellM it, few cam near't, 
It was sae fine. 

That, set him to a pint of ale, 
An' either douce or merry tale, 
Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himset, 

Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale 

• He had few matches-. 

Then up I gat, an* swoor an aith, 
Tho' I should pawn my pleugh an graithj 
Or die a cadger pownie's death, 

At some dyke -back, 
A pint an* gill I'd gie them buith, 

To hear your crack. 

But, first an' foremost, I should tell^ 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo 'jingle fell, 

Tho' rude an* rough, 
Yet crooning to a body's sel, 

Does weel eneugh. 

I am nae Poet^ in a sense. 
But just a Rhymer^ like, by chance, 
An' hae to Learning nae pretence. 

Yet, what the matter ? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance* 

I jingle at her. 



136 THE POETICAL WORKS Oil 

Your Critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, * How can you e*er propose, 
* You wha ken hardly vrrse frae prose 

* To mak a safig- .?' 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Ye're maybe wrung. 

What's a' your jargon o' your Schools, 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
If honest Nature made you fooia^ 

What sairs your Grammars? 
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools 

Or knappin-hammers. 

A set o' dull, conceited Hashes, 
Confuse their brains in College-classes ! 
Tiiey ^ang in Stirks, and co?ne out Asses'j 

Plain truth to speak ; 
An' syne they think to cli.; b Parnassus^ 

By dint o' Greek ! 

Gie me ae spark o' Nuture's fire, 
Th;,t's a' the learning I desire ; 
Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an' nnre 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, tho' ha eiy in attire, 

May touch the heart 

O for a spunk o' Milan's glee. 
Or Ferguson'' s, the bttuld an slee. 
Or bi-ight Lafiraik's^ n^y friend to be^ 

If I Ci»n hit it ! 
That would be /cur eneuj.^h for me, 

If 1 could get it. 

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends I b'iieve are few, 
Yet^, if your catalogue bt fow, 

I'se no insist ; 
But, gif ye want ae friend that's true, 

I'm on your list^ 



ROBERT BURNS. ISJ' 

I winna blaw about raysel, 
As in I like my fauts to tell ; 
But friends an' folk that wish me well, 

They sometimes roose me ; 
Tho' I maun own, as monie still 

As far abuse me. 

There's ae nveefaut they whiles lay to me, 
I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 
For monie a Plack they wheedle frae me. 

At dance or fair : 
Maybe some ithcr tiling they gie me 

They weel can spare. 

But Mauchllne Race or MauchUne Fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gie ac night's discharge to care, 

If we forgather, 
An' hae a swap o' rhymin-ivare 

Wi' ane anither. 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter. 
An' kirsen him wi* reekin water; 
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, 

To chear our heart ; 
An' faith, we'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 

Awa ye selfish, warly race, 
Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace, 
Ev'n love an' friendship, should give placC) 

To catch-the-fiiack I 
I dinna like to see your face, 

Nor hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms. 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warm«, 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

* Each aid the others,' 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

M,y friends, my brothers ! 

N2 



158 THE POETICAL WORKS OP 

But to conclude my 1 ng epistle, 
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle : 
Twa lines frae you wac- gar me fissle, 

Who am, most fervent, 
While I can eiiher sing, or whissle. 

Your friend and servant* 



TO THE SAME. 

April 21, 1785*, 

W^HILE new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake. 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, 
This hour on e'enins edge I take. 

To ovi^n I'm debtor, 
To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 

For his kind letter. 

Forjesket sair, with weary legs, 
Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs, 
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 

Their ten-hours bite^ 
My awkart Muse sair pleads and begs, 
I would na write. 

The tapetless, ramfeez^ld hizzie, 

She's saft at best an» something lazy, 
Quo' she, * Ye ken we've been sae busy 

* This month an' mair, 

• That trowth, my head is grown right dizzifej 

* An* something sair.' 

Her dowfF excuses pat me m.ad ; 

* Conscience,*^ says I, * ye thowless jad ! 

* I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, 

' This vera night ; 

• So diima ye affront your trade, 

« But rhyme it right? 



ROBERT BURNS. 139 

< Shall banld Lap.raiky the king o' hearts, 

* Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, 

* Roose you sae weel for your deserts, 

' In terms sje friendly, 

* Yet yeMl neglect to shaw your parts 

* An' thank him kindly ?* 

Sae I gat paper in a blink. 
An* down gaed stutnfiie in the ink s 
Quoth I, ' Before I sleep a wink, 

* I vow ril close it; 

* An' if ye winna mak it clink, 

< By Jove I'll prose it V ^ 

Sae Tve begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegitber. 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither, 

Let time mak proof; 
But I shall scribble down some blether 
Just clean afT-loof. 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carpj 
Tho' Fortune use you hard an' sharp ; 
Come, kittle up your moorland harfi 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how Fortune loaft an ivar/i^ 

She's but a b-tch. 

She's gien mte monie a jirt an' fleg? 
Sin I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the L — d, tho' I should beg 

Wi' lyart pow, 
I'll laugh, an' sing, an* shake my leg. 
As lang's I dow ! 

Now Gomes the sux an' twentieth simmey^ 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer. 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet, desyite the kittle kimnier, 

Jj Hod) e^m i^ere^. 



t40 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Do you envy the city Gent, 
Behint a kisi to lie an sklent, 
Or purse-proud, big vvi cent, per cent. 

An' muckle wame, 
In some bit Brugh to represent 

A Bailie's name ? 

Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, 
Wi' ruffl'd sark an' glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane, 

But lordly stalks. 
While caps an' bonnets aft" are taen, 

As by he walks ? 

< O Thou wha gies us each guid gift 

< Gie me o* wit an' sense a' lift, 

* Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

' Thro' Scotland wide 5 

* Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, 

' In a' their pride !' 

Were this the charter of our state, 

< On pain o' hell be rich an' great,' 
Damnation then would be our fate, 

Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to Hea"v'n, that's no the gate 
We learn our creed. 

For thus the royal Mandate ran, 
When first the human race began, 
^ The social, friendly, honest man, 

' Whate'er he be, 

* *Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 

' And none but he.^ 

O Mandate, glorious and divine ! 
The followers o' the ragged Nine, 
Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may shine 

In glorious light. 
While sordid sons o' Mammon's line 
Are dark as night*. 



ROBERT BURNS. 14t 

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl? 
Their worthless nievefu' of a soul 
May in some Juture carcase howl, 

The forest's fright j 
Gr in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light. 

Then may Lafiraik and Burns arise, 
To reach their native, kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes an' joys-, 

In some mild sphere, 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year! 



•TO \V. S**=^**N, Ochiltree. 

May, mS, 

I GAT your letter, winsome WilUe ; 
"V^'i' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie j 
Tho' 1 maun say't, I wad be silly, 
An* unco vAuy 
Sliould I believe, my coaxin billie, 

Your fliitterin strain> 

But I"*se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented 

On my poar Musie ; 
Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it, 
I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel, 
Should I but dare u ho/ie to speel, 
Wi' Jlian, or wi' Gilbertfidd^ 

The braes o' fame ; 
Or Ferguson^ the writer-chiel, 

A deathless nam^. 



142 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

( O Ferguson ! thy glorious parts 
ni suited law*s dry, musty arts ! 
My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 

Ye Enbrugh Gentry ! 
The tythe o* what ye waste at cartes 

Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 
Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 
As whyles they're like to be my dead, 

(O sad disease I) 
I kittle up my rustic reed\ 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila^ now, may fidge fu* fain, 
She's gotten Bardies o' her ain, 
Chiels wha their chcinters winna hain, 
But tune their lays. 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Nae Poet thought her worth his while> 
To set her name in measur'd style ; 
She lay like some unkend-of isie 

Beside JVew Holland. 
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 
Besouth Magellan, 

Ramsay an* famous Ferguson 
Gu^ I r-jith uii' Tay a lift a boon t 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings, 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 
Naebody sings. 

Th' TllissuH, Tiber, Thames, an* Seine, 
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu* line; 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine, 

An' Cock your crest, 
We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine 

Up wi* the best. 



nOBERT BURNS. I43 



We'll sing auld Collars plains an* fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells, 
Her banks an* braes, her dens an' dells, 

Where glorious Wallace 
Aft bure the gree, as story tells, 

Frae Suthron billies. 

At Wallace* name, what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace'* side, 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, 

Or glorious dy'd ! 

O sweet are Collars haughs an' woods, 
When lintwhites chant amang the buds. 
And jinkin hares, in amorous whids, 
Their loves enjoy, 
While thro' the braes the cushat croods 
With wailfu' cry ! 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me. 
When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray; 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 

Dark'ning the day I 

O Kature I a' thy shews an' forms 
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms ! 
Whether the Summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an' light, 
Or Winter howls, in gusty storms. 

The lang, dark night ! 

The Muse, nae Poet ever f^nd her, 
Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

An' no think lang ; 
O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 



J 4.4 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The warly race may drudge an' drive, 
Ho£>-shouther, jundie, stretch an' strive, 
Let me fair jYature''s face descrive, 

And I, wi' pleasure. 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive, 

Bum ov^re their treasure. 

Fareweel, * my rhyme-composini;' brither 
We've been owre lang uiikenn'd to ither : 
Now let us lay our heads thegither, 

I» love fraternal : 
May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend, infernal I 

While Highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; 
While moorlan herds like guid, fut braxies^ 
While Terra Firma, on her axis, 
Diurnal turns, 
Count on si friend, in f^ith an' practice, 
In Robert Burn a. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

My memory's no worth a preen ; 
I h. d amaist iorgoiten clean. 
Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this new'light *, .\ 

'Lout which our /lerds sae aft hae beea 
Maist like to fight. 

In days when mankind were but callans 
At Grammar^ Logic^ an' sic talenis, 
They took nae pains their speech to balance, 

Or rules to gie. 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallans^ 

Like you or me. 

* JsTe-wUght is a cant phrase, i Iv Wes, of Scotland, for thffse 
rellg-'ous opinions whicii Dr. Taylor ot Norwich has defended so 
strenuouslv. 



ROBERT BURNS. ^45 

In thae aiikl times, they thought th€ Moo?!, 
Just like a stirk, or pair o* shoon, 
\V ore by degrees, till her lust roon 

Gaed past their viewing, 
An' shortly after she was done, 

They gat a new ane. 

This past for certain, undisputed : 
It ne'er cam i* their heads to doubt it, 
Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 

An' caM it wrting ; 
An' muckle din there was ubout it, 

Baith loud an' lang. 

Some herds^ weel-learn'd upo' the beuk, 
Wad threap auid folk the tiling misteuk; 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk, 

An' out o' sight, 
An* backlins comin, to the leuk. 

She grew mair bright. 

This was denyM, it was affirm'd ; 
The herds an' hiasels were alann'd ; 
The rev\end gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd, 

Thut beardless laddicS 
Should think they better were infortn'd 

Than their auid daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to stieks ; 
Frae words an* aiths to clours an' nicks ; 
An' monie a fallow g^at his licks, 

Wi* hearty crunt ; 
An' some, to learn them for their tricks, 

Were hang'd an* brunt. 

This game was play'd in monie lands, 
An' auld-light caddies bure sic hands. 
That fuith, the youngsters took the sands 

Wi' nimble shanks, 
Till Lairds forbade, by strict commands, 
Sic bluidy pranks. 
O 



146 



THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



But neiv-light herds gat sic a cowe, 
Folk thought them luin'd stick-an-stovve, 
Till now amaist on ev'ry knowe 

Ye'll fine ane plac'd ; 
An' some, their new-light fair avow, 

Just quite burefuc'd. 

Nae doubt the auld-light Jocks are bleatin ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin; 
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin 

Wi' girnin spite, 
To hear the Moon sae sadly lie'd on 

By word an' write. 

But shortly they will cowe the louns I 
So e auld-light herds in neebor towns 
Are mind't in things they ca' balloons^ 
To tak a flight, 
An' stay ae month amang the Moons, 
An' see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them ; 
An' when the auld Moon''s gaun to lea'e them. 
The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them, 

Just i' their pouch, 
An' when the new-light billies see them, 

1 think they'll crouch ! 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 
Is naething but a * moonshine matter ;' 
But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 
I hope, we Bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie.. 



IIORERT RUIiNS. t47 



EPIGR^\M 

ON CAPT. FRANCIS GROSE 

THE CELEBRATED ANT I Q.U ARI AN. 



The folloiving Efiigramy ivritten in a moment of festivity by 
Burns^ was so much relished by Grose^ that he made it 
serve as an excuse for firolongiyig the convivial occasion 
that gave it birth^ to a very late hour. 

THE Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, 

So whip 1 at the suuimons, old Saitin came flying; 

But when he approached where poor Francis lay moau- 

And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning,* 
Astonished ! confounded ! cry'd Satan, by G-d, 
I'll want 'im, ere I take such a d — bie load. 



GRACE BEFORE MEAT. 

O THOU, who kindly does provide 
For ev'ry creatures want; 
We bless thee, God of nature Wide> 
For this thy goodness lent. 

And if it please thee, Heav'nly Guide? 
May never worse be sent. 
But whether granted or deny'd, 
Lord bless us with content. 

* Mr. Grose was exceedingly corpulent, and used to rally hinv 
self with the greatest good humour, on the singular rotundity of 
his figure. 



l48 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

GRACE AFTER INIEAT, 

O THOU, in whom we live and move, 
"Who mad'st the sea and shore, 
Thy goodness ccMistcintly we prove, 
And grateful would adore. 

And if it please thee, Pow'r above, 
Still grant us with such store, 
The Fritnd we trust ; the rair WQ. love ; 
And Ave desire no more. 



ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S 

PEREGRINATIONS THRO' SC0TL4ND. 

Collecting the Antiquities of that kingdom. 

HEAR, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
Frae M^'idenkirk to Johnny Groats, 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it ; 
A chiel's amang you, takin notes. 

And, faith ! he'll prent it. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, 
O' stature shoi t, but genius bright, 

That^s he, mark weel — = 
An WGW ! he has an unco sligl.t 

O' cauk and keel. 

By some 9uld, houlet haunted biggin *, 
Or kirk desetteci by its riggin, 
It's ten to ane yt'Il find him snug in, 

Some eldritc;i pait, 
\\V deils, they say, L — d safe's ! coileaguin 

At some bl.ck art — 

* Yide his Antiquities of Scotbmd 



ROBERT BURNS. 149 

Ilk p:haist that haunts auld ha' or chamer, 
Ye gypsy-gang, that deal in glamor, 
And you deep-read in hell's black grammer, 

Warlocks and witches ; 
Ye'll quake at his conjurin hammer, 

Ye midnight b— es. 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
An ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
But now he's quat the spurtle-blade, 

An dogskin wallet. 
An taen the-— -^Antiquarian trade., 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets, 
Rusty airn caps, an' jingling jackets *, 
Wad haud the Loudians three in tackets? 

A towmond gude. 
And parritch pats, an* auld saut-backets, 

Before the flood. 

O' Eve's first fire he has ae cinder ; 
Auld Tubal-Cain's fire-shool and fender \. 
That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stiek o' the witch o' Endor, 
Weel shod wi' bras3, 

Forbye, he'll shape you aff fu' gleg, 
The cut o' Adaii 's philibeg, 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully; 
It was a fauldin jocteleg. 

Or lang kail-gully. 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meikle glee and fun has he, 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Gude fellows wi' him 5 
And port^ O port ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye'll see him I 

* Yide his Treatise on Ancient Armour and Weap^g^. 



150 THE POETICAL -WORK&OF 

Now, by the powers o' verte i^nd prose 1 
Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose I 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca' thee, 
I'd tak the rascal by the nose, 

Wcwd say, Shame fa* thee. 



EXTEMPORE VERSES. 

ON DINING WITH LORD DAER. 



Moss^iel, October 2StFt 



THIS wot all ye whom it concerns, 
I, rhymer Rab, alias Burns, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er to be forgotten day ! 
Sae far I sprachPd up the brae, 

I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 

I've been at drucken Writers* feasts ; 
Nay, been bitch fou 'mang godly Priests y 

(Wi' reverence be it spoken !) 
I've even join'd the honour'd jorum, 
When mighty Squireships o' the Quorum 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

B>it wi' a Lord ! — stand out my shin I 
A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's Son — 

Up hiu:her yet, my bonnet 1 
An' such a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa j 
Our Peerage he looks o'er them a'. 

As 1 look o'er my sonnet. 

But, O 1 for Hogarth's magic pow'r, 
To shew Sir Bardie's willyart glowr, 

An' how he star'd an' stammer'd I 
When goavan's he'd been led wi' b ranks, 
A.i' stumpan on his ploughman shanks, 

He in the parlour hammered. 



ROBERT RT^RNS. lol 

To meet good Stuart little pain is, 
Or Scotia's sacred Demosthenes, 

Tiiinks I, they are but men ! 
But Ikirns, my Lord — Guid G — dl I doited i 
My knees on itnc anither knoited, 

As fuultering i gaed ben I 

I sidling' shelter'd in a neuk 
An' at his Lordship staw a leuk, 

Like some portentous omen ; 
Except GOOD SENSE, an social glee. 
An' (what surprisM me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watcb'd the symptoms o' the great, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state, 

The arrogant assunning ; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he, 
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see, 

Mair than an honest Ploughman. 

Then from his Lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern, 

One rank as well's another : 
Nae honest, worthy man need care. 
To meet wi' noble, youthfu' Daer, 

For he but meets a Brother. 

DEAR SIR, 

I NEVER spent an afternoon among" great folks with half that 
pleasure as when in company uith you. 1 had the honour of pay- 
, ing my devoirs to that plain, honest, worthy man, tiie Professor. 
1 would be delig-hted to see him perforin acts of Lindntss and 
irlendship, though I were not the object, he does it witli such a 
grace. — I think his character, divided into ten parts, stands thus 
— four parts Socrates — four pans Nathaniel — and two parts 
Shakespeai-e's Brutus. 

Tlie foregoing verses were really extempore, but a little cor- 
rected suice. They may entertain you a little, with the help of 
that partiality with which you arc so good as favour the pevfoi'Ki" 
auces oi', 

* DEAR SIR, 

Your very humble servant, 
Wednesday morning. aOBERT BUiyMS, 



152 THE POETICAL WORKS 01' 

VERSES. 

Tfritten in Friars-Carse Hermitage, on A'tth-Side^ 

THOU whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clcid in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
* Grave these counsels on thy souL 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost ? 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, 
Fear not clouds will always lour. 

As Youth and Love, with sprightly dancf. 
Beneath thy morning star advance, 
Pleasure with her siren air 
May delude the thouj^htless pair ; 
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup. 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. /- 

"T 

As the day grows warm an"d high. 
Life's meridian flaming nigh. 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale f 
Check thy climbing step, elate, 
Evils lurk in felon wait: 
Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold. 
Soar around each cliffy hold, 
While chearful Peace, with linnet song, 
Chants the lowly dells amOng. 

As the shades of ev'ning close, 
Beck'ning thee to long repose ; 
As Life itself becomes disease, 
Seek the chimney-nook of ease. 
There ruminate with sober thought. 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought ; 
And teach the sportive yownkers round, 
Laws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, mtin's true, genuine estimate, 
The grand criieriom of his fate. 



KOBERT BURNS. 153 



Is not, art thou high or low ? 
Did thy fortune ebb or ftow ? 
Did many talents gild thy span ? 
Or frugal Nature grudge tUee one ? 
Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
As thou thyself must shortlyfind, 
The smile or frown of awful Heav'ii, 
To Virtue or to Vice is g>v'n. 
Say, to be just, and kind, and -wise, 
There solid Self-enjoyment lies ; 
That foolish, selfish, f-iithless ways, 
Lead to be wretched, vile and base. 

Thus resigned and quiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep; 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 
Night, when dawn shall never break, 
Till Future Life, future no nwre, 
To light and joy the good restt)re, 
To light and joy unknown before. 

Stranger, go ! Heav'n be thy guide I 
Quod the Beadsman of Nith-side. 



} 



ODE, SACRED TO THE MEMORY 

OF Mrs. OF . 

DWELLER in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation, mark ! 
Who in widow weeds appears, 
Laden with unhonoured years, 
Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
Baited with many a deadly curse ? 

STROPHE. 

View the wither'd beldam's face- 
Can thy keen inspection trace 
Aught of Hu t anity's sweet melting grace ? 
Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erfiows, 
Pity*s flood there never rose. 



154 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, 

Hands that took but never gave. 

Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 

Lo, there she goes, ii?ipitied and unblest 

She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest 



J 



ANTISTROPHE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes ! 
(A while forbear, ye tort'ring fiends), 
Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends? 
No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies ; 
'Tis thy trusty quondam mate^ 
Doom'd to share thy fiery fate, 
She, tardy, hell-ward plies. . 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail, 
Ten thousand glitt'ring pounds a-year ? 
In other worlds can Mammon fail, 
Omnipotent as he is here ? 
O, bitter mock'iy of the pompous bier^ 
While down the wretched vital part is driv'n ! 
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience v lean, 
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav'n. 



ELEGY ON Capt. MATTHEW HENDERSON, 

s4 Gentleman who held th^ Patent for his Honors imme- 
diately from Almighty God I 

But now his rarliant course is run, 

Ft)r Matthew's course was brig-ht ; 
His soul WHS like the glorious sun, 

A matchless Heav'nly Light !^ 

O DEATH ! thou tyrant fell an' bloody ! 

The meikle devil wi' a woodie 

HttUrl thee hame to his blaek smiddie, 

O'er hurcheon hides, 
An' like stock-fish come o'er ins studdie 

Wi' thy auld -sides ! 



ROBERT BURNS. j^^ 



He's game, he's gane ! he's frae us torn, 

The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 

Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn 

By wood an' wild, 
Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, 
That proudly cock your crestinc: cairns ! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts o' sailing yearns, 

Where EciiO slumbers 1 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns. 

My wailing numbers I 

Mt)urn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 

Ye huzly shaws and briery dens ! 

Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin din, 
Or foaming, Strang, wi' hasty stens, 

Frae lin to lin. 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lee; 
Ye stately foxk^loves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonilie, 

.In scented bow'rs i 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' flow'rs. 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 
Droops wi' a diamond at his head. 
At e'en, when beans their fragrance shed; 

r th' rustling gale. 
Ye maukins, whiddin thro' the glade, 

Come join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songster's o' the wood ; 
Y' grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
\ urlews calling thro' a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood; 

He's gane for ever ! 



^^ THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Mourn, sooly cools, an' speckled teals ; 
"Ye fisher iieions, waicl.ing eels; 
\e cluck an' drtike, ui' diy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Kidr for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o* day, 
'Mang fields o' flow'ring claver gay ; 
An' when ye wing your annual way 

P>ae our Chuld shore, 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in ciay, 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r, 

In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r, 

W hat time the moon, wi* silent glowr, 

Sets up her horn, 
"Wail thro' the dreary midnight l.our 

Till waiikrife morn I 

O, rivers, forests, hills and plains! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains : 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales o' woe ? . 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling o' the year! 
Ilk cowslip cup s.'iall kep a tear: 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up iis head, 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, 

For him that's dead I 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantie tear! 
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we*ye lost ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 157 



Mouvn him, thou Sun, great source of light I 
Mourn, Empress of the silent Night ! 
An' you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's taen his flight. 

Ne'er to return. 

O, Henderson I the man ! the brother ! 
And art tl.ou gone, and gone for ever ! 
And hast thou crost that unknown rivep, 

Life's dreary bound ! 
Like thee, where shall I find another, 

The world around 1 

Go to your scnlptur'd tombs, ye Great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait, 

Thou man o' worth ! 
A.n' weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 



THE EPITAPH. 

STOP, passenger! my story's brief, 
And truth 1 shall relate, man ; 

I tell nae common tale o' grief. 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 

Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door man ; 

A look of pity hither cast, 
For Matthew was a poor man. 

If thou a nobler sodger art, 

That passeth by this grave, man ; 
There moulders here a gallant heart, 
• For Matthew was a brave man. 

P 



158 'AlIE rOETICAL WORKS 01 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw iincomrr.on light, man ; 

Here lies wha wccl had won thy praise, 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at Friendship's sacred ca' 

Wad life itself resign, man ; 
Thy syr pathetic tear maun fa', 

For Matthew was a kind man. 

If thou art staunch without a stain. 
Like the unchanging blue, man ; 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain, 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, an' fun an' fire. 

And ne'er gude wine did fear, man ; 

This was thy billie, dam, an' sire, 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony whiggish wliingin sot, 

'1 o blame poor Matthew dare, man ; 

M.vy dool an' sorrow be his lot, 
For Matthew was a rare man ; 



LAMENT 

OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

ON THE APPROACH OF SPRIXG. 

NOW Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree, 
And spreads her sheets o' diiisies white 

Out o er the grassy lea: 
Now Phoebus chears the crystal streams. 

And glacis the azure skies; 
But nought Cdh glc.d the weary wight 

That 'fast in durance lies. 



ROBERT BURNS. 159 



Now laverocks wake the meny morn, 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bow^r. 

Makes woodland echoes ring; 
The mavis mild, wi' many a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi* care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

The primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I, the queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 

I was the queen o* bonie France, 

Where happy I hae been : 
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, 

As blythe lay down at e'en: 
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands. 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman, 

My sister and my fae. 
Grim vengeance yet shall wet a sword 

That thro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of wop 

Frae woman's pitying c'c. 

My son I my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild thy reigi"- 

That ne'er v/ad blink on mine ! 



IQO THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

God keep thee frae thy mother*s faes, 

Or tnin th ir hearts to tliee : 
And where ihou meet'si thy mother's friend. 

Kemember him for me ! 

O ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 
■ Nae mair light up the morn ! 
>^'ac man-, to me, the iiuuimn winds 

Wave o*er the yellow corn ! 
And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next flow'rs that deck the spring, 

Bloom on my peaceful grave. 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, OF FINTRY, Es^• 

LATE crippl'd of an ariln, and now a leg, 
About to beg a fm^s for leave to beg ; 
Dull, listless, leas'd, dejected and deprest, 
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest) ; 
"VVill generous Graham list to his Poet's wail ? 
(It soothes poor Misery, heark'ning to her tale), 
And hear him curse the light he first survey'd, 
And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade. 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign ; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain : 
The lion and the bull thy care have found, 
One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground : 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
The envenom'd wasp, victorious guards his ceil. — 
Thy minions, kings defend, controul devour, 
In all th' omnipotence of rule and power. — 
Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure ; 
The cit and polecat stink, and are secure. 
Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, 
The priest and hedgehog in their- robes, are snug. 
Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, 
Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and ditrt^. 



ROBERT BURNS. 151 

But Oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard, ' 
To ihy poor, fenceless, n tked ehild— the Bard ! 
A thin^ uiiteachable in world's skill, 
An half an idiot too, more helpless still : 
No heels to bear hi i from the op*ning dun ; 
No claws to dii^, his hated sight to shun ; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worHj 
And those, alas ! not Amalthaea's horn : 
No nerves olfact'ry. Mammon's trusty cur, 
Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur. 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride, 
He bears th' unbroken blast from ev*ry side : 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
And scorpion Critics cureless venom dart.; 

Critics — appall'd, I venture on the name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame; 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ; 
He hacks to teach, theymangle.to expose. 

His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung, 
By blockheads daring into madness stung ; 
His well-won bays, than life itself more dear. 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must Wear i 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in th' unequal strife, 
The hapless Poet flounders on thro' life. 
Till fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd, 
And fled each Muse that glorious once inspired, 
Low-sunk in squalid, unprotected age, 1 

Dead, even resentment, for his injured page, > 

fie heeds or feels no more the ruthless Critic's rage ! J 

So, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed deceas'd, 
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast ; 
By toil and famine worn to skin and bone, 
Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 

O Dulness I portion of the truly blest ! 
Cal n-shelter'd haven of eternal rest! 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extrem^es 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
P2 



162 THE POETICAL W0RKS OF 

If mantlins^ high she fills the golden cup, 
\^ ith sober selfish Ease they sip it up : 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deservCy 
They only wonder " some folks" do not starve. 
The i^rave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless do£;. 
When Disappointment snaps the clue of Hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, 
"W ith deaf Endurance sluggishly tliey bear, 
And just conclude, that " fools are Fortune's care.*^ 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's sliocks, 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train. 
Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain ; 
In equanimity they never dwell. 
But turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted hell. 



I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe, 
"With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear ! 
Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
Glcncairn^ the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears. 
And left us darkling in a world of tears:) 
O ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r ! 
Fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to life ; and soothe his latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling the bed af death I 



■ ] 



ROBERT 13UR^%7 I63 



LAMENT 

FOR JAMES EARL OF GLENCAIRIST. 

THE wind blew hollow frae the hills 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream : 
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord. 

Whom death had all untimely taen. 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik. 

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with yeafs ; 
His locks were bleached white with time, 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ; 
And as he touch'd his trembling harp. 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang. 
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, 

To echo bore the notes alang. 

" Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, 

" The relics of the vernal quire ! 
" Ye woods, that shed on a* the winds 

" The honours of the aged year I 
" A few short months, and glad and gay, 

" Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 
" But nocht in all revolving time, 

" Can gladness bring again to me. 

" I am a bending aged tree, 

" That long has stood the wind and rain ; 
" But now has come a cruel blast, 

" And my last hold of earth is gane ; 
" Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the springs 

" Nae. simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
" But I maun lie before the storm, 

< 'And ithers plant them in my rpom» 



1(34 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

" I've seen sae mony chmigefu' years, 

" On earth I am a stranger grown ; 
" I wander in the ways of men, 

" Alike unknowing an^ unknown : 
" Unheard, unpitied, unifeliev'd, 

" I bear alane my lade o' care, 
" For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

" Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

" And last, (the sum of a' my griefs !) 

" My noble master lies in clay ; 
" The flower amang our barons bold, 

" His country's pride, his country's stay: 
" In weary being now I pine, 

" For a* the life of life is dead, 
« And hope has left my aged ken, 

" On forward wing for ever fled. 

" Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 

" The voice of woe and wild despair ! 
" Awake, resound thy latest lay, 

" Then sleep in silence evermair 1 
" And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

« That fillest an untimely tomb, 
" Accept this tribute from the Bard 

" Thou brought from Fortune's mirkest gloorp. 

" In Poverty's low barren vale, 

" Thick mists, obscure, involved me round j 
" Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 

" Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
" Thou found'st me, like the morning sun 

" That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
« The friendless Bard and rustic song, 

" Became alike thy fostering care. 

" O I why has worth so short a date ? 

" While villains ripen grey with time ! 
*< Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, 

« Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime I 



ROBERT BURNS. tes^ 

»' Why did 1 live to see tliat day 

" A dciy to me so full of woe ? 
" O I had I met ihe mortal shaft 

*' Which laid my benefttctor low ! 

" The bride f^room may forget the bride 

" Was uiacle his wedded wife yestreen j 
" The monarch may for.u;et the crown 

" That on his head an hour has been ; 
" The mother may forget the child 

" That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; 
« But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 

" An' it' that thou hast done for me i" 



LINES, SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD OF WHITE- 
FORD, BART. WITH THE FOREGOING POEM. 

THOU, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, 

Who, save thy wmrf*.9 reJiroacJ^ nought earthly fear'st, 

To thee this votive off'ring I impart, 

The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 

The Friend thou valued'st, I, the Patron^ lov'dj 

His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd ; 

We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone, 

And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown* 



ADDRESS 

TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, 

On crovjning his Bust, at Rdnam^ Roxburghnhire^ 
ivith Bays. 

WHILE virgin Spring, by Eden's flood> 

Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 

Or tunes Eoliun strains between : 



166 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

While Summer with a matron grace 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade : 

While Autumn, benefactor kind, 

By Tweed erects his aged head, 
And sees, with self-approving mind, 

Each creature on his bounty fed; 

While maniac Winter rages o'er 

The hiils whence classic Yarrow flows, 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar. 

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows. 

So long, sweet Poet of the year. 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won ; 
While Scotia, with exulting tear. 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 



ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE 

LIMP BY ME, WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT< 

INHUMAN man 1 curse on thy barb^'ous art, 
And blasted be thy murder aiming eye ; 
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh. 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart I 

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 
The bitter little that of life remains : 
No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 

To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, 
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head. 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest 



ROBERT BURNS. 167 

Oft as by winding Nith, 1, musing, wait 

The sober eve, or hail tlie cheerful dawn, 
I II miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. 



EPITAPH 

ON J— IS B Y, Writer, D- 



IIERE lies J — n B y, honest man ! 

Cheat him, Devil, if you can. 



THE WHISTLE. 

A BALLAD. 

As the autlientic prose historij of the WHISTLE is curious, I 
shall here g-ive it. — lii lUe train of Anne i)f Denmark, when she 
ca,me to Scotland with our Jureies the Sixth, there came ovier al- 
so a Danish gentleman of gigantic stature and great prowess, and 
a ma chless champion of B.icchus. He had a little ebony Whistle, 
which, at the coijiimencement of the org-ies, he laid on the table ; 
and wlioever was last able to blow it, every body else being- disa- 
bled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off tiie Whistle as 
a trophy of victory. — The Dane produced credentials of his victo- 
ries, without a single defeat, at the Courts of Copenhagen, Stock- 
holm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the petty courts m Ger- 
many : and challenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the alternative 
of crying his prowess, or else of acknowledging their inferiority. 
—After many overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane was 
en ountered by Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton, ancestor to the 
present worthy baronet of that name ; who, after three days und 
tiiree nights hard contest, left the Scandinavian under the table, 
" And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill." 

Sir Walter, son to su* Robert before mentioned, afterwards lost 
tlie WUistle to Walter Riddel of Glennddel, who had married a 
sister of sir Waler's. — On Friday, the 16tli October, 1790, at Fri- 
ars-Carse, the Whistle was once more contended for as related in 
tlie Ballad, by the present sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton ; 
R )bert Riddel, esq. of Glenriddei, lineal descendant and repre- 
sen ative of Walter Riddel, who won the Whistle, and in wiiose 
family it had continued: and Alexander Ferguson, esq. of Craig- 
darro h, likewise descended of the great sir Robert ; which last 
Qjirried off' tUe hard won hoivours of the field. 



158 THE POETICAL WORKS OP 

I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 
I sing of a Whistle, the pride ot the North , 
Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king, 
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. 

Old Loda*, still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 
" This Wliistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er, 
" And drink them to hell, Sir, or ne'er see me more I" 

Old Poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What chai! pions ventured, what champions fell; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still, 
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Till nobert, the lord of the Cairn an' the Scaur, 
Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
He drank his poor godship as deep as the sea. 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd, 
Which now in his house has for uges remain'd ; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his bloovl, 
The jovial contest again have renew'd 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; 
And trusty Glen riddel, so skill'd in old coins ; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil; 
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 

" By the gods of the ancients !'' Glenriddel replies, 
" Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
" ril conjure the ghost of great Rorie Moref, 
" And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er.'* 

* See Ossian's Carac-thura. 

t See Johnson's tour to the Hebrides. 



ROBERT BURNS. I59 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech wotild pretend, 
But he ne'er turned his back on his foe — or his friend^ 
Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
And, knee deep in claret, he'd die or he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 
So noted for drowning of sorrow and care; 
But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame; 
Than the sense, wit and taste of a sweet lovely dame* 

A Bard was selected to witness the fray. 
And tell futdre ages the feats of the day ; 
A Bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been- 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply. 
And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy : 
In the bands of old friendship and kindred to set. 
And the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet.- 

Gay pleasure ran riot ai bumpers ran o'er ; 
Bright Phoebus ne*er witness'd so joyous a core, 
And vowM that to leave them he was quite forlorn. 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. 

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red. 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage.* 
No longer the warfare, ungodly would wage ; 
A high ruling elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to ilie end ; 
But v/ho can with Fate and Quart Bumpers contend? 
Though Fate said, — a hero should perish in light ; 
So uprose bright Phoebus — and down fell the knight.^ 

Q 



1^0 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Kcxt uprose our Bard, like a prophet in drink :-^ 
" Craigdarroch, thoul't soar when creation shall sink ! 
" But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 
*" Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime I 

" Thy line that have struggled for freedom Tvith 
Bruce", 
" Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 
*' So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay; 
" The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day ! ' 



THE HUMBLE PETITION- 

OF BRUAR WATERS 
TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATIIOLE, 

MY Lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain : 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain, 
How saucy Phcebus' scorching beams, 

In framing summer-pride. 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy 3trea!ms, 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly-jumping, glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my waters play, 
I.f, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray : 
If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow. 
They're left, the whitening stanes amang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

* Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and 
beautiful ; but thei*- effect is much impaired by the want of trees 
aijd shrubs. 



ROBERT BURNS, 171 



Last day I grat wi' spite an' teen, 

As poet Burns came by, 
That, to a bard, I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Even as I was he shorM me, 
But had I in my glory been. 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming do\vn the shelvy rocks, 

In twisting strength I rin : 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roaring o'er a lin : 
Enjoying large each spring and wdl 

As Nature gave them me, 
I am, altho' I say't mysel. 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please^ 

To grant my highest wishes, 
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring tfees, 

And bonie spreading bushes. 
Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 

You'll wander on my banks, 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return your tuneful thanks. 

The sober laverock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink. Music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir : 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, 

The mavis mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive Autumn cheer, 

Li all her locks of yellow. 

This too, a covert shall ensure. 
To shield them from the storms ; 

And coward maukins sleep secure, 
Low in their grassy forms : 



If 2 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The shepherd here shall make his seat, 
To weave his crown of flow'rs ; 

Or find a sheltering safe retreat, 
From prone descending show'rs. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 

Shall meet th« loving pair, 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty idle care : 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heav'n to grace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arais 

To screen the dear embrace. 

Jlere haply too, at vernal dawn, 

Some musing bard may stray, 
And eye the smoking, dewy law:;, 

And misty mountain, grey ; 
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 

Mild-chequering thro' the trees, 
Rave to my darkly-dashing stream^ 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 

My lowly banks o'erspread. 
And view, deep-bending in the pool,^ 

Their shadows* wat'ry bed : 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close embow'ring thorn. 

So may, old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour'd native land ! 
So may thro* Albion*s farthest ken, 

To social flowing glasses, 
The grace be^ — — " Athole's honest men, 

*' And Athole's bonie lasses i" 



ROBERT BURNS. 173 



ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL, IN LOCH-TURIT, A 
WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OUGHTERTYRE, 

• WHY, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly ? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties ? — 
Common friend to you and me, 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wavcy 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock, 
Bide the surging* billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace, 
Man, your proud usurping foe, 
Would be Lord of all below: 
Plumes himself in freedom's pridCs 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow, 
Marking you his prey below, 
In his breast no pity dwells. 
Strong necessity compels. 
But man, to whom nlone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 
Glories in his heart humane — — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain^ 

In these savage liquid plains. 
Only known to wandering* swains. 
Where the mossy riv'let strays, 
Fiir from human haunts and ways ; 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend 

Or, if man's superior might 

Bare invade your native right, 

Q2 



1 74 THE POETICAL WORKS CF 

On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn ; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings. 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, STANDING BVTHE FALL OF 
FYERS, NEAR LOCH-NESS. 

AMONG the heathy hills and ragged woods 

The roaring Fyers pours his mossy flxjods; 

Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 

"WHiere, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. 

As high in air the bursting torrents flow, 

As deep recoiling surges foam below. 

Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends. 

And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends. 

Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show'^s-, 

The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, lovv'rs. 

Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils, 

And still, below, the horrid caldron boils — — 



©N THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, BORN IN PE- 
CULIAR CHICUMSTANCES OF FAMILY-DISTRBSS, 

SWEET flow'ret' pledge o* meikle love. 

And ward o' mony a prayer, 
What heart o' stane wad thou na fi^ove, 

Sae helpless, sweet and fair. 

November hirples o'er the lea, 

Chill, on thy lovely form ; 
And gi^ne, alas 1 the shelt'ring tre£,' 

Should shield thee, from the stornv. 



ROBERT BtlRNS ir^ 



May He who gives the rain to pour, 
And wings the blast to blaw, 

Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 
The bitter frost and snaw. 

May He, the friend of woe and want, 
Who heals life's various stounds, 

Protect and guard the mother plant, 
And heal her cruel wounds. 

But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, 
Fair on the summer morn : 

Now, feebjy bends she, in the blast, 
Unshelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gera> 
Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! 

And from thee many a parent stem 
Arise to deck our land. 



TAM SAMSON'S* ELEGY. 

An honest man's the noblest work of God — 



HAS auld Kilmarnock seen the Deil ? 

Or great M' y f thrawn his heel ! 

Or R n, \ again grown weel. 

To preach an* read ? 
* Na, waur than a !* cries ilka chiel, 

^' Tarn Sa7nson''s dG<kd I* 

* When this worthy old Sportsman went out last muh'-fowl 
season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, ' the last of 
his fields ;' and expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried 
in the muirs. On this hint the Author composed his Elegy and 
Epitaph. 

J A certain Preacher, a great favourite with the MilUon. Fide 
the ORDINATION. 

i Another Preacher, an equal favourite with the Few, who was 
at that time ailing. For him see also the ORDINATION, stai^za IX. 



176 THE POETICAL WORKS 01 

Kilmarnock lang may grunt an* grane, 
An* sigh an' sob, an' greet her lane, 
An' deed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean. 

In mourning weed ; 
To Death she's dearly paid the kane, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

The Brethren o' the mystic level 
May hing their head in wofu' bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will reveJ, 

Like ony bead ; 
Death's gien the Lodge an unco devel, 

Tarn Samson's dead I 

When Winter muffles up His cloak, 
And binds the mire like a rock ; 
When to the loughs the Curlers flock, 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock^ 

Tarn Samson's dead ? 

He was the king of a' the Core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar, 

In time o' need ; 
But no-w he lags on Death's hog-score, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Now safe the stately Sawmont sail, 
And Trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And Eels weei kend for souple tail. 

And Geds for greed. 
Since dark in DeUh^sJifih-creel we wail 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Rejoice, ye birring Paitricks a' ; 
Ye cootie Moorcocks, crousely craw ; 
Ye Maukins, cock your fud fu' braw, 

Withouten dread ; 
Your mortal Fae is now awa', 

Tam Samson's dead I 



IIOBERT BURNS. ljr;r 

That >v>oefu* morn be ever mourn'd 
Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd, 
While pointers round impatient burn'd, 

Frae couples freed ; 
13 ut, Och ! he gaed and ne'er return'cl ! 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

In vain Auld-age his body batters j 
In vain the Gout his ancles fetters ; 
In vain the burns cam down like waters? 

An acre-braid ! 
Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin clatters, 

* Tam Samson*s dead'!' 

Owre mony a weary hag he limpit, 
An' ay the tither shot he thumpit, 
Till coward Death behint him jumpit^ 

Wi' deadly feide ; 
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' Trumpet, 

Tam Samson's dead I 

When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, 
But yet he drew the mortal trigi^cr 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed ! 
* L — d, five !' he cry'd, an owre did stagger; 

Tam Samson's dead I 

Ilk hoary Hunter mourn'd a brither ; 
Ilk Sportsman-youth bemoan'd a father ; 
Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, 

Marks out his head, 
Whare Burns has wrate in Rhyming blether, 

Tam Samsoii's dead ! 

When August winds the heather wave, 
And Sportsmen wander by yon grave. 
Three vollies let his mem'ry crave 

O' pouther an' lead. 
Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

Tam Samson's dead I 



IT'S THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Heav'ft rest his saul, \vhare*er he be ! 
Is th' wish of mony mae than me : 
He had twa fauts, or maybe three, 

Yet what remead ? 
Ae social, honest man want we : 

Tarn Samson's dead- 

THE EPITAPH. 

T'am Samson's weel worn clay here lies-, 
Ye canting Zealots, spare him ! 

If honest Worth in Heaven rise, 
Ye'll mend or ye win near him, 

PER CONTRA. 

Go, Fame, an^ canter like a filly 
Thro' a* the streets an' neuks o' JGllie *, 
Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin, 
>For yet, unskaith'd by Death's gleg gulUe, 
Tarn Samson's livinl 



A FRAGMENT. 

Time, Gillicrankie. 

WHEN Guilford good our Pilot stood, 

An' did our hellim thraw, man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 

Whithin Atyierica^ man : 
Then up they gat the maskin-pat, 

And in the sea did jaw, man ; 
An* did nae less, in full Congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

* KilUe is a phrase the country-folks sometimes use for Kil- 
marnock. 



ROBERT BURNS. 179 



Then thro' the lakes Montgomery take^, 

I wat he was na slaw, man ? 
Down Lonurie's burn he took a turn, 

And Carleton did ca', man : 
But yet, whatreck, he, at Quebec^ 

Montgomery-like did fa', man, 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a', man. 

Poor Tammy Gage within a cage 

Was kept at Boston-ha\ man ; 
Till M'illie Howe took o'er the knowe 

For Philadellihia^ man : 
\Vi* sword an* gun he thought ^ sin 

Guid Christian bluid to draw, man ; 
But at J^Pew-York^ wi' knife an' fork, 

Sir Loin he hacked sma', man. 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, 

Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day, 

In Saratoga shaw, man. 
Cornivallia fought as lang's he dough>. 

An' did the Buckskins claw, man ; 
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save 

He hung it to the wa', man. 

Then Montague^ an Guilford too, 

Began to fear a fa', man ; 
An' Sackville doure, wha stood the stQure, 

The German Chief to thraw, man : 
For Paddy Burke., like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box. 

An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man. 

Then Rockingham took up the game ; 

Till Death did on him ca', man : 
When Shelburne meek held up his cheeky 

Conform to Gospel law, man : • 



180 THE POETICAL WORKS QB 

Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise. 
They did his measures thraw, man, 

For JVorth an' Fox united stocks, 
An* bore him to the wa', man. 

Then Clubs an' Hearts were Charlie' % cartels, 

He swept the stakes awa', man, 
Till the Diamond's Ace, of Indian race. 

Led him a iixiv faux fias, man : 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, 

On Chatham'' s Boy did ca', man ; 
An' Scotland drew her pipe an' blew, 

< Up, Willie, waur them a' man 1' 

}3ehind the throne then Grerwille's gone, 

A secret word or twa, man ; 
While siee Dundas arous'd the class 

Be-north the Roman wa', man : 
An' ChathairCs wraith, in hcav'nly graith, 

(Inspired Bardies saw, man) 
Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, * Willie^ rise ! 

' Would I hae fear'd them a', man !' 

But, word an' blow, JVorth^ Fox, and Co. 

Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man, 
Till Suthron raise, an' coost their claise 

Behind him in a raw, man : 
An' Calcdon threw by the drone, 

An' did her whittle draw, man; 
An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood, 

To mak' it guid in law, man. 

***** 5jf -* 



EPITAPH FOR R. A. ESQ. 

Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honoured name ! 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold. 



ROBERT BURNS. 181 

On readings in a J^ejvspapeh, the DzAfH of J • 

M'L , Esq. Brother to a Yhung LjDr, a particu- 

lar Friend of the Author's. 

SAD thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms : 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew 

The morning rose may blow : 
But cold successive noontide blasts 

May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 

The sun propitious smil'd ; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 

Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords 

That Nature finest strung : 
So Isabella's heart was form'd, 

And so that heart was wrung. 

Dread Omnipotence, alone. 

Can heal the wound He gave; 
Can point the brimful, grief-worn eyes 

To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossom's there shall blow. 

And fear no withering blast j 
There Isabella's spotless worth 

Shall happy be at last. 



LINES. 

Written Extempore in a Lady's Pocket-Book, 

GRANT me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may lis^e 
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give ; 
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as flur. 
Till slave and despot be but things which wert. 

R 



482 1'li' POLTICAL WORKS OF 



IJNES ATRITTEN IN A HERMITAGE. 

Thou vhom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
'Grave these maxims on thy soul. 

I/ife is but a day at most. 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost : 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour ; 
Fear not clouds will ever lour. 
Happiness is but a name, 
IVIake content and ease thy aim. 
AtTibition is a meteor-gleam : 
Fame, an idle restless dream : 
Peace, the tend'rest flow*r of spring ; 
Pleasures, insects on the wing. 
Those that sip the dew alone, 
Make the butterflies thy own ; 
Those that would the bloom devour, 
Crush the locusts, save the flower. 
For the future be prepar'd, 
Guard wherever thou canst guard ; 
But thy utmost duly done. 
Welcome what thou canst not shun. 
Follies past give thou to air. 
Make their consequence thy care : 
Keep the name of man in mind, 
And dishonor not thy kind. 
Keverence with lowly heart 
Him whose wond'rous work thou art ; 
Keep his goodness still in view. 
Thy trust and thy example too. 
Stranger go I heaven be thy guide ! 
Quod tlie Bcrtdesman of Nith-side. 



ROBERT BUItXS. Ig. 



On a Young Ladij^ residing on the banks of the s?ncll twicer 
JDcyjcn, in Clackmannanshire^ but ivhose infant years 
were spent in AijrHhire. 

How pleasant the banks of the clciir-winding Devon, 
With green-spreading bushes, and flowers bloonaing 
fair ; 

But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon 
^V'a3 once a sweet bud on tlie braes of the Ayr. 

Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, 
In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew ! 

And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, 
That steals on the evening each leaf lo rene\r. 

O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, 
With chiil hoary wing as ye usher the dawn ! 

And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizest. 
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn 1 

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, 

And England triumphant display her proud rose, 

A fairer than either adorns the green vallies 
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 



GLOOMY DECEMBER. 

ANCE mair I hail thee thou gloomy December \ 

Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember. 

Parting wi* Nancy, Oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 
Fond lovers parting is sweet painful pleasure, 

Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; 
But the dire feeling, O farenvell for ever^ 

Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. 



184 I'ii^ POETICAL WORKS OF 

Wild as the -winter now tearing the forest, 

'Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, 
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, 

Since my last hope and last comfort is gone ; 
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 

Siill shall I hail thee \vi' sorrow and care ; 
For sad was the parting thou makes .ne remember, 

Parting Avi' >yancy. Oh, ne*er to mectmair. 



EPITAPH ON A FKIEND. 

An honest man here lies at rest, 
As e'er God with his Image blest, 
I'he friend of man, the friend of truth ; 
The friend of age, and guide of youth ; 
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd,. 
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd : 
If there's another world, he lives in bliss i 
If there is none, he made the best of this. 



A VISIOINT. 

As I stood by yon roofless tower, 

Where the wa' -flower scents the dewy air. 
Where th' howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 

And tells the midnight moon her care. 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 
The stars they shot alang the sky; 

The fox was howling on the hill. 

And the distant-echoing glens reply. 

The stream, adown its hazelly path, 
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's, 

* Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 
Whase distant roaring swells and fa's. 



Vuriation. To join yon rtver on the StratU- 



ROBERT BURNS. 18.T 

The caukl blue north was streaming forth, 

Her lights, wi* hissin eerie din ; 
Athort the lift they start and shift, 

Like fortune's favors, tint as win. 

* By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, 

And, by the nioon-beam, shook, to sec 
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 

Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o' stane, 

His darin look had daunted me ; 
And on his bonnet graved was plain, 

The sacred posy — Libertie ! 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 

Might rous'd the slumb'ring dead to hear j 

But oh, it was a tale of woe. 
As ever met a Briton's ear ! 

He sang wi' joy his former day, 

He weeping wail'd his latter times; 
But what he said it was nae pU»y, 

I winna ventur't in my rhymes.f 

* Variation. Now lookhig over firth and faukl. 

Her hqrn the pale-fac'd ^Jynthia rear'd ; 
When, lo, in form of minstrel auld, 
A stern and stalwart gliaist appear'd. 

f This poem, an imperfect copy of which was printed iu John- 
son's Museum, is here ijiven from the poet's MS with his last 
corrections. The scenery so finely described is taken from nature. 
The poet is supposed to be musing by night on the banks of the 
river Cleuden, and by the ruins of Lincluden-Abby, founded in 
the twelfth century, in the reign of Malcolm IV, of whose pre- 
sent situation the reader may find some account in Pennant's tour 
in Scotland, or Grose's antiquities of that division of the island. 
Such a time and such a place are well fitted for holding converse 
with aerial beings. Though this poem has a political bias, yet it 
may be presumed that no reader of taste, whatever his opinions 
may be, would forgive its bemg omitted. Our poet's prudence 
suppressed the song of Liberties perhaps fortunately for his re- 
putation. It may be questioned whether even in the resources of 
his genius, a strain of poeti-y could have been found worthy of the 
grandfeur and solemnity of this preparation. 

R2 



186 THE POETICAL WORKS Of 

TO MISS CRUIKSHANKS, 

A VERY YOUNG LADY. 

Written on the blank leaf of a book presented to her by 
the author. 

BEAUTEOUS rose-bud, young and gay, 
Blooming on thy early May, 
Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r, 
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r I 
Never Boreas' hoary path, 
Never Eurus' pois*nous breath, 
Never baleful stellar lights, 
Taint thee with untimely blights I 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf ! 
Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew i 

May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem,. 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
'Till some ev'ning, sober, calm. 
Dropping dews and breathing balm. 
While all around the woodland rings: 
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings : 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, 
Shed thy dying honours round, 
And resi,:n to parent earth 
The loveliest Ibrm she e*er gave birth. 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT, 

FOR THE BEATH OF HER SON. 

Tune—" Finlayston House.'* 

FATE gave the word, the arrow sped, 

And pierc'd my darling's heart t 
And with him all the joys are fled 

Life can to me impart 



ROBERT BURNS. ig^ 



By cruel hands the saplmg drops, 

In dust dishonor'd laid : 
So fell the pride of all my hopes, 

My age's future shade. 

The mother linnet in the brake 

Bewails her ravish'd young ; 
So I, for my lost darling's sake, 

Lament the live-day long. 
Death oft I fear'd thy fatal fatal blow, 

Now, fond 1 bare my breast, 
O, do thou kindly lay me low, 

With him I love at rest. 



POEM, 

Addressed to Mr. Mitchell, Collector of Excise, Dumfries, 1796, 

FRIEND of the poet tried and leal, 
Wha, wanting thee might beg or steal 
Alake, alake the n.eikle deil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it, skelpin ! jig and reel, 

In my poor pouches 

I -modestly fu' fain wad hint it. 
That one pound one, I sairly want it. 
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it. 

It would be kind; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted 

I'd bear't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenty o*er the loanin 

To thee and thine ; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 



I gg THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Ye've heard this while how I've been licket, 
And by fell death was nearly nicket : 
Grim loon I he gat me by the fecket, 

And sair me sheuk 
But by gude luck I lap a wicket, 

And turn'd a neuk. 

But by that health, I've got a share o't, 
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't, 
My hale and weel I'll take a care o't 

A tentier way : 
Then farewell folly, hide and liair o't 

For ance and ay. 



POEM ON PASTORAL POETllY. 

HAIL Poesie ! thou Nymph reserved ; 
In chase o' thee, what crouds hae swerv'd 
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 

'Mang heaps o' clavers ; 
And och ! o'er aft thy joes hae starved, 

Mid a' thy favours I 

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang, 
"While loud, the trump's heroic clang. 
And sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage ; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-siing 

But wi' miscarriage ? 

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives 
Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives ; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin, 'till him rives 

Horatian Fame ; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Even Sappho's flame. 



ROBEUT RUllXS. I89 



But thee Theocritus, Avha matches ? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches ; 
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches 

O' heathen tatters : 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 

That ape their betters. 

In this braw age o* wit and lear, 
AVill nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
I31aw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And wi* the far fam'd Grecian share 

A rival jilace ? 

Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish eallan ! 
There's ane ; come forrit, honest Allan ! 
Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, 

A chiel sae clever; 
The teeth o' time may gnaw Tamtallan, 

But thou's for ever. 

Thou paints auld nature to the nines, 

In thy sweet Caledonian lines ; 

Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines, « 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell 1 

In gowany glens thy burnie strays, 
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes ! 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wi* hawthorns gray. 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays 

At close o' day. 

Thy rural loves are nature's sel ; 
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 
Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell 

C witehin love. 
That charm, that can the strongest quell, 

The sternest move. 



190 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

THE GLIDWIFE OF WAUCIIOPE HOUSE.* 

Addressed to Burns, Feb. 178?". 

IVIY canty, witty, rhyming ploughman, 

I hafflins doubt it is na true, man, 

That ye between the stilts was bred, 

Wi' ploughmen school'd, wi' ploughmen fed. 

I doubt it sair, ye've drawn your knowledge 

Either frae grammar-school, or college. 

Guid troth, your saul and body baith 

War' better fed, I'd gie my aith. 

Than theirs who sup sour milk and parritch, 

An' bummil thro' the single caritch. 

^Vhaever heard the ploughman speak, 

Could tell gif Homor was a Greek? 

He'd flee as soon upon a cudgel, ' 

As get a single line of Virgil. 

An' then sae slee ye crack your jokes 

O' Willie Pitt an' Charlie Fox. 

Our great men a sae weel descrive, 

An' how to gar the nation thrive, 

Ane maist wacUswear ye dwelt amang them,, 

An' as ye saw them, sae ye sang them. 

But be ye ploughman, be ye peer, 

Ye are funny blade I swear. 

An' tho' the cauld, I ill can bide. 

Yet twenty miles, an' mair, IM ride, 

O'er moss, an' muir, an' never grumble, 

The'' my auld yad shou'd gae a stumble, 

To crack a winter-night wi' thee, 

An' hear thy sangs an' sonnets slee. 

A guid saut herring, an' a cake 

Wi' sic a chiel a feast wad make. 

I'd rather scour your rumming yill, 

Or eat o' cheese an' bread my fill, 

Than wi' dull lairds on turtle dine. 

An' ferlie at their wit an' wine. 

• This poem is introduced merely as a necessary prelude to tb^ 
answer, which could not wiih propriety be left out. E. 



ROBERT BURNS. 191 

O, gif I kend but whare ye baide, 

l*d send to you a marled plaid ; 

*Twad baud your shoulders warm and braw, 

An* douse at kirk, or market sbaw. 

Far south, as weel as north, my lad, 

A' honest Scotsmen lo*e the iiiaud. , 

Kight wae that weVe sae far frae ither ; ^ 

Yet proud I am to ca' ye brither. 

Your most obed. E. S. 



THE ANSWER. 

CUIDWIFE, 

I MIND it weel in early date, 

When I was beardless young an' blate, 

An' first cou'd thresh the barn, 
Or baud a yokin at the pleugh, 
An' tho' fu' foughten sair eneugh 

Yet unco proud to learn. 

When first amang the yellow corn 

A man I reckoned was ; 
An' with the lave ilk merry morn 
Could rank my rig and lass ; 
Still sheering and clearing 
The tither stooked raw ; 
With clavers and haivers 
Wearing the time awa' : 

Ev'n then a wish (I mind its power) 
A wish, that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast, 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake 
Soms useful plan or book could make, 

Or sing a sang at least. 

The rough bur-thistle spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear, 
I turn'd my weeding heuk aside, 

An' spar'd the symbol dear. 



192 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

No nation, no station 
My envy e'er could raise ; 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew no higher praise. 

sang 
In formless jumble, right an' wrang, 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
Till on that hairst I said before, 
My partner in the merry core. 

She rous'd the forming strain. 

I see her yet, the sonsy quean, 
That lighted up my jingle ; 
Her pauky smile, her kittle eon. 
That gar*t my heart-strings tingle. 
So tiched, bewitched, 
I rav'd aye to mysel ; 
But bashing and dashing, 
I kend na how to tell. 

Hale to the set, ilk guid chiel says, 
\Vi' merry dance in winter-days, 

An' we to share in common : 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe. 
The saul o' life, the heav*n below, 

Is rapture-giving woman. 

Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name. 

Be' mindfu' o' your mither : 
She, honest woman, may think shame 
That ye're connected with her. 

YeVe wae men, ye're nae men. 
That slight the lovely dears : 
To shame ye, disclaim ye, 
Ilk honest birkie swears. 

For you, na bred to barn and byre, 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre, 

Thanks to ye for your line. 
The marrd plaid ye kindly spare, 
By me should gratefully be ware : 

'Twad please me to the $^ine. 



ROBERT BUKN? 19^ 



I*d be mair vantie o' my hap, 

Douse hingin o'er my curple. 
Than ony ermine ever lap, 
Or proud imperial purple. 

Farewell then, lang hale then, 
An' plenty be your fa* ; 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan ca'. 



THE SILLER GUN^ A POEM, 

AE bonnie momin', clear and sunny, 
Our trades wha like ay to be funny. 
And spend a wee flight o' their money 

On Usquabae ; 
Forgathered for their siller gunny 

To shute, that day. 

Wi' hat as black as ony raven, 
Weel powther'd wiggie, beard new shaven, 
An ilka kind o' deeding havin 

In trim array ; 
Furth cam ilk ane, some cheap years saving, 
To wear that day. 

Fair fa' them, honest edgie carls, 
Lang may they live ay free o* quarrels, 
And tipple ay frae gude tight barrels ; 

For by my certie, 
They were as braw as ony Earls, 

And e'en right hearty. 

Nae feck o* fowk could boast mae dainties, 
Albeit our Lairds, now rack their renties, 
Whilk gars our canty cock-a-benties, 

Wear hodden gray ; 
Yet ilka journeyman and prentice 

Was snod that day. 

* The Siller-gim was presents 1 to the tradesmen in SIcotlandj 
to be shot for every year. 



194 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

For as they gaed alang the causey 
Wi' ilka thing sae trig an' gaucy, 
They staw the heart o' monie a lassie 

Right blate away, 
Which gart them wha afore were saucy 
Look doylt that day. 

As generals aft their troops convene,' 
To see they a* be trig and clean ; 
Sae now the dinlin drums I ween 

Were beat to arms, 
And honest fowk were deav*d bedeen 
Wi* wars alarms. 

Syne auld and young o* ilka lallan 
Were a* in order made to fall in, 
And ay the mair to keep the saul in 
And banish wae, 
The bonnie bells made sic devallin 
Wi* joy that day. 

Hechj sirs, what crouds were gathered roun' 
To see them daiker through the town — 
Lad, lass and wean, wives, black and brown, 

Wi' age grown gray, 
Cam, fidging fain, to gie their boon 

O praise that day. 

E*n blythc to see them tightly drest, 
Auld E^ips was there amang the rest, 
. And while wi* joy her sides she prest, 

Like mony mae, 
^er approbation was exprest 

In words like thae. 

Wow, but it gars ane's heart loup light 
To see auld folks sae cleanly dight, 
E'en now our Geordie looks as tight 

As the first lime 
His blooming haffet*s bless'd my sight 

When in his prime. 



ROBERT BURNS. 195 

But silence on ilk lassie's part 
Spak mair than words could ere impart, 
Deep sighsj the language o' the heart, 

Will oft reveal 
A flame which a' th' pow'r of art 

Could ne'er conceal. 

\Vi' fiddles playing, colours fleeing, 
And mony a thing weel wordy seeing, 
Down to the Craig's a* weel agreeing. 

They gaed awa ; 
'Twa'd made ane laugh, tho* they'd been deeing, 

To see them a*. 

As fierce, I trow, as ony gled 
Ilk deacon march'd afore his trade, 
Auld chiels wha had to arms been bred 

Lang e'er Belleisle, 
Them a' like ony sodgers led 

In rank and file. 

Ilk ane had guns, there's mony trimmer, 
For maist o' them, I'd lay a brimmer, 
Had na been shot this mony a simmer, 

They gied sic dunts ; 
And some through fear had bits o* timmer 

Instead o' flints. 

Ither's (for need maks mony a fen) 
Fill'd up their touch-hole's wi' a pin. 
And as in twenty, there was ten 

Worm-eaten stocks, 
Sae here and there a rozet end 

Held on their locks. 

And then to shaw what diff'rent stands 
Twiest him that gets and gies commands. 
Swords that unsheath'd sin Preston Pans 

Neglected lay. 
Were now brought out to deck the hands 
O chiefs that day. 



196 TMB POETICAL WORKS OF 

Ye wha hae been at Hallow fair 
An' seen the plays that happened there, 
Or, aiblins read its frolics rare 

In Rabbie's lay, 
Can only now wi' it compare 

The sports that day. 

Like ony camp afound a hill 
Were Booricks made wi* meikle skill, 
Pang'd to the e'e wi' mony a gill 

O' a' kind liquor, 
Where fowk might coz'Iy crack their fill, 

Or bend the bicker. 

Snug in thae tents where fowk could see, 
On divet seats, kuir'd wi* a tree, 
Auld birkies innocently slee 

Upo* their doup, 
Were e'en as blythe as blythe could be, 

Wi' cap an' stoup. 

Pleas'd they'd recount wi' meikle joy 
How alt they'd been at sic a ploy, 
Wi' a' their names, their eild employ 

And youthful play, 
Wha'd ever won this tirley toy 

Sin Jamie's day. 

And mony a crack and weel warlM tale 
'Bout bald forbears, whilk ne'er does fail 
Baith saul and body to regale 

Wi' matchless pow'r 
Wad through the lee lang day prevail 
Till a' was owre. 

When wives or ither cares perplex us. 
When senseless gilligawkies vex us, 
Or waesuck eild, and poortith geeks us 

Wi' ragged duds, 
Dcil haet sae weel frae grief protects us 

As reeming scuds. 



KOBERT BURNS. 19jr 

Here rowth o'.ginge -bread stans were seen, 
Where lasses dancing unco keen, 
Aft winking wi' their pawkie e'en, 

Sic i^Linces gie 
As gart some wanton fellows green 

For night that day. 

When some auld-farran nackie billXe 
Hands to his joe wi' mony a gillie, 
Wha shaws her breast as white's a lily 

And Icggies tight, 
Gosh, could a priest restrain his willie 
In sic a plight. 

Sae to the whins frae 'mang the thrang 
Whiles ane or twa or sae wad gang, 
Whare tales o' love and eke a sang 

Shot time away, 
And youngsters got what they did lang 

For mony a day. 

Amang the lave was kintry Johny 
Wi' his joe, Meg, as braw as ony, 
She thought, nae doubt, hersel' as boiviit; 

As ony there. 
But lang or night her cockernony 

Was touzled sair. 

She, silly, simple, hame-bred hizzie 
Had never seen a rakish phizzy, 
Sae took frae c hie Is wha were right bizzy 

O' usquabae, 
Till lack a nie, baith sick and dizzy, 

Wae she that day. 

At times like this, when chiels are skairin, 
Wi' ilka ane they meet a fairin, 
They'll never stop to cry for mair in 

O' liquor dear. 
But women fowk should ay be sparin 

O sic can gear. 

S3 



198 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

For owre the mind when drink presides, 
To pranks of sin and shame it guides, 
In wisdom's ways it never prides, 

But brings to light 
A thousand fauts which reason hides 
Clear out o' sight, 

By this time now, wi* mony a dunner. 
The guns were rattlin afF like thunner ; 
Auld fowks wi' joints maist dug asunner, 

Were in dismay. 
For shouther-blades got mony a lunnep 

Frae guns that day. 

Hech, sic a weary wark was there 
' Tween mad ambition and base fear ; 
It seldom fails, be't far or near, 

That mony a score 
Are keen o' trades which nature ne'er 

Design'd them for. 

Ac fellow there, poor silly calf. 
Held out his gun, as't been a staff, 
Turn'd back his head, tho' haff an* haff. 

He was. they say. 
And panting, cry'd, sirs, is she aff, 
Wi' fear that day. 

Anither chiel, wae worth the loon, 
RampagM and curs'd like a dragoon. 
But leaning on his hunkers down, 

To let her aff. 
He fil'd his breeks, which did confound 

And mak them laugh. 

Poor gowk, ne'er us'd wi* wars alarms, 
Or taught to handle fire-arms. 
His fears foresaw a thousand harms 
Approaching fast, 
Till nature v^Iing a' her charms 

Gie'd way at kst. 



ROBERT BURNS. 199 



To crown the hale, about the gloamin 
The Siller Gun was won by no man :* 
Warse deeds hae gi'en to mony a Roman 

Eternal fame ; 
But prodigies are grown sae common 

They've tint the name. 

Proud wi* their luck afore, tho' douce 
And quaint as ony half-fellM mouse, 
E'en now the Taylor crawM sae crouse, 

ril gie my aith. 
Had ony ane cry'd, ' Prick the louse,' 

There had been skaith. 

Syne hame they gaed like magic spell, 
Some stoiter'd owre, and ithers fell ; 
While mony a ane the muse could tell. 

Like new spain'd weans, 
Could neither gang unheld themsels 

Nor Stan' their lanes. 

But should the canty muscy reel 
Owre a' the pranks o' ilka chiel. 
She'd may-be tramp on some sair heel 

O* dool and wae, 
Whase nieves wad aiblins gar her squeel 

For that some day. 

As in the course of some campuin 
The grun is cover'd o*er wi* slain, 
Sae now in Barleycornian strain 

Ye eith might view 
Ahint the lave some fellows fain 

To lye and spew. 

Ithers again, just haff an' haff, 
Ay nichrin out the tither gaff, 
Dang mony a hat and wii^gie aff 

In wanton play, 
Till, peace be here, wi' nie ve >md staff 

They fought that day. 

• It was won by a taylor. 



200 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

As sparks frae flames their greatness rear, 
Aft daffin leads to bluidy weir ; 
It chanc'd a dainty souter here 

Like Crispin dress'd, 
Had a' the robes which princes wear 

At birth-day feast. 

This day, tho* nought could happen droller, 
Bred the poor souter meikle dolour j 
A taylor-fellow, nae great scholar, 

Wi* mony a bann, 
Took honest Crispin by the collar. 

And thus began. 

Taylor.,.Xt. guid for naething souter hash, 
Tho* powther decks your carrot pash, 
Tell me, I say, sin* griev'd I fash 

Withouten charter. 
What right ye hae to wear this sash. 

Or star and garter ? 

Crispin... .het gang your grips, or by my saul, 
Were I but ance within my stall. 
By a' that's gude, my peggin awl. 

Ye devil's buckie. 
Should jag and tear you spaul frae spaul, 

Like onie chuckie. 

It sets ye weel indeed to jeer, 
Or question me for what I wear, 
I represent king Crispin here, 

While, fye for shame, 
Your lousy craft to manhood ne'er 

Could yet lay claim* 

Taylor. ...King Crispin, waleo' ilka loun 
That ever robb'd or rul'd a town j 
1 mind to he^i, like some baboon 

Ihat apes its betters, 
He claim'd pretensions to a crown 

Ao' deed in fetters* 



ROBERT BURKS. oqi 



Crisfiin... .Insult my chieftain, ony place. 
Shall never ane o* taylor's race ! 
And, sir, ye've dar'd afore my face 

His name to blacken, 
Ye'se either fight or dree disgrace 

To save your bacon. 

Agreed, quo' Prickie, when he faun 
Himsel in sic a hubble drawn. 
That tho* a taylor, I'm a man 

Ye*se own content, 
Else, as ye fin me, judge the clan 

I represent. 

Now expectation fill'd each breast 
Wi' dread o' what raight happen iiiest, 
Sae crouse the twa set up their criest 

Afore the uiilie ; 
Fowk thought in ither's wames at least, 

They'd sheath a gullie. 

Arm'd with the lapboard and the sheers, 
The taylor in the front appears, 
While Crispin, wha in Charlie's weirs 

Had nobly bled, 
A hazel rung in triumph rears 

And dauntless said : 

Now tak thou warst o' worthless things ; 
The vengeance due frae slighted Kings ; 
Wi' that his doublet aff he flings. 

And in a wee 
The cudgel on the lapboard rings 
Alternately. 

To see fair play, or help a frien', 
Fowk stammerM frae a' airth's bedeenj 
Auld wives to red them ran between 

Like Amazons, 
And nought was heard sync owre the green 

But shraiks and groans.. 



202 THE POETICAL WORKS .OF 

Nor cou'cl ye ken \vi' nicest care 
Whu won or wha was licket there; 
Peil-mell they fought, foul play or fair 

Was a* the same, 
An' friensan' faes lay every where 

Baith blin' and lame. 

To comfort thae inch thick o* glar; 
His e'en japannM and chafts a char, 
Be thankfu*, sirs, it is na war, 

(Quo' Yaedam Bryen) 
A lievin' dog is better far 

Than a dead lyon. 

Let ane, tho' crooked, tak a chappin. 
He'll think there's few mair tight or strappin, 
Fu' crousely will he cock his tappin 

Like man o' weir, 
"Wha fresh had but a gun been snappin 

Would swat wi* fear. 

Sae was't that day, for rowth o' thae 
Wha wanting drink, nae mettle hae, 
Here mony a fearfu' lunncr gae 

But dread or. shame, 
Till they wi' ribs baith black and blae 

Were draggled hame. 

When fowk are in a merry pin 
Weel fortify'd wi' Highland Gin, 
They'll eiihly thole a weel pay'd skin. 
Like leather teughj 
And neither care nor sorrow fin 

For lang eneugh. 

But soon as sober sense returns. 
Yestreen's debauch the drunkard mourns, 
His feckless body aft he turns 

The pain to lay ; 
Sair griev'd baith head and heart-ache burns 
Wi' him niest day. 



ROBERT BURNS, 203 

WRITTElNi IN A SOLITARY INN, 
IN SELiaRK. 

Auld chuckle Reekie*s * sair distrest, 
Down droops her ance weel bumish't crest, 
Nae joy her^bonie buskii nest 

Can yield ava, 
Her darling bird that she loe's best 
Willie's avva ! 

Willie was a witty wight, 

And had o' things an unco* slight ; 
Auld Reekie ay he keep it tight, 

And trig an' braw : 
But now they'll busk her like a fright 
Willie's awa! 

The stiffest o' them a' he bowM, 
The bauldest o' them a* he cow'd ; 
Vhey durst nae mair than he allow'd 

That was a law : 
We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd, 
Willie's awa ! 

Now gawkies, tawpics, gowks and fools, 
Frae colleges and boarding schools, 
May sprout like simmer puddock-stools 

In glen or shaw ; 
He wha could brush them down to mock 
Willie's awa ! 

The breth*ren o' the Commerce-Chaumerf 
May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour; 
He was a dictionar and grammar 

Amang them a' ; 

1 fear they'll now make mony a stammer 

Willie's awa ! 

* Edinburgh. 

t The Chamber of commerce of Edinburgh, of wftich Mjr 
€. was Secretary. 



204 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Nae mair we see his levee door 
Philosophers and Poets pour,* 
And toothy critics by the score 

In bloody raw ! 
The adjutant o' a' the core 

Willie's awa I 

Now worthy G*****y's latin face, 
T****r's and G*********'s modest grace ; 
]^^K****e, S****t, such a brace, 

As Rome ne'er saw ; 
They a* maun meet some ither place, 
Willie's awa ! 

Poor Burns — e'en Scotch drink canna quicken, 
He cheeps like some bewildered chicken, 
Scar'd frae it's minnie and the cleckin 

By hoodie-craw ; 
Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin', 
AVillie*s awa ! 



Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin' blellum. 
And Calvin's fock, are fit to fell him ; 
And self-conceited critic skellum 

His quill may draw ; 
He wha could brawlie ward their bellum 
Willie's awa ! 



Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped. 
And Eden scenes on chiystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks now roaring red 

While tempests blaw ; 
But every joy and pleasure's fled 

Willie's awa I 



* Many literary gentlemen were accustomed to meet at Mr. 
C — ^'s house at breakfast. Burns often met with them there when 
he called, and hence the name of Levee. 



ROBERT BURNS. 205 



May I be slander's common speech ; 
A text for infamy to preach ; 
And lastly, streekit out to bleach 

In winter snaw; 
When I forget thee ! Willie Creech, 
Tho' far awa ! 

May never wicked fortune touzle him I 
May never wicked man bamboozle him ! 
Until a pow as auld's Methusalem ! 
He caniy claw ! 
Then to the blessed, New Jerusalem 
Fleet wing awa ! 



EPITArJI 

OX A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. 

HERE Sowter **** in Death does sleep : 

To H-11, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 

He'll baud it weel thegither. 



EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK. 

Sept. ISUi. 1785. 
GUID speed an' furder to you Johny, 
Guid health, hale ban's, an* weather bony ; 
Now when ye're nickan down fu' cany 

The staff o' bread, 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' brany 

To clear your head. 

May boreas never thresh your rigs, 
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs 

Like drivin' wrack ; 
But rilay the tapmast grain that wags 

Come to the sack 
T 



206 THE POETICAL WORKS OF ^%/ j 

I'm bizzie too, an* skelpin' at it, 
But bitter, daudin showers hae vvat it, 
Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it 

Wi' muckle wark, 
An' took my jocteleg an' whatt it, 

Like ony dark. 

It' s now twa month that I' m your debtor, 
For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, 
Abusin' me for harsh ill nature 

On holy men, 
While deil a hair yoursel ye're better, 

But mair profane, 

But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, 
Let's sing about our noble sels ; 
We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills 

To help, or roose us, 
But browster wives an' whiskie stills, 

Thexj are the muses. 

Your friendship sir, I winna quat it. 

An' if ye mak objections at it, 

Then han' in nieve some day we' 11 knofft, 

An' witness take, 
An* when wi' Usquabae we've wat it 

It winna break. 

But if the beast and branks be spar'd 
Til! kye be guun without the herd, 
An' a' the vittel in th« yard. 

Be theckit right, 
I mean your ingle-side to guard 

Ae winter night. 

llien muse-inspirin' aqua-vitae 

Shall make us baith sae blythe an' witty, 

Till ye forget ye 're auld an' gatty. 

An' be as canty 
As ye were nine year less than thretty. 

Sweet ane an' twenty \ 



ROBERT BURNS, 307" 



But Stocks are cowpet wP the blast, 
An' now the sinn keeks in the west, 
Then I maun ring amang the rest 

An* quat my chanter ; 
S'ae I subseribe mysel in haste, 

Your's, Rab the Rant^.*. 



ON SEEING HIS FAVOURITE WALKS DESPOILET>, 
OF THEIR WOOD, 

AS on the banks o' wandering Nith, 
Ae smiling simmer morn I stray'd, 
And traced its bonny howms and haughs, 
Where Unties sung) and lambkins play'd, 

I sat me down upon a craig", 
And drank my fill o' Fancy's drevim ; 
When from the eddying deep below 
Uprose the Genius of the stream. 

Dark like the frowning rock his brow? 
And troubled like his wintry wave ; 
And, deep as sughs, the boding wind 
Among his caves^ the sigh he gave. 

" And came ye here, my son, he cried, 
To wander in my birken shade, 
To muse some favourite Scottish theme, 
Or sing some favourite Scottish maid ? 

* Rab the Ranter — It is very probable that the poet thus named 
himself after the Border Piper^ so spiritedly introduced in the 
popular son of Maggie Lauder : 

** For I'm a piper to my trade. 

My name is Rab the Ranter ,- 
The lasses loup as they were daft, 

When I blaw up mv chanter." 



208 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

There was a time, its nae lang syne, 
Ye migLi hae seen me in my pride ; 
Wjien a* my banks sae bravely saw 
Their woody pictures in my tide ; 

When hanging' beech and spreading elm 
Shaded my stream sae clear and cool, 
And stately aiks their twisted arms 
Threw broad and dark across the pool ; 

When, glinting through the trees, appcar'd 
That wee white cot aboon the mill, 
And peacefu' rose its ingle reek 
That slowly curled up the hill. 

But now the cot is bare and cauld, 
Its branchy shelters Icfet and gane, 
And scarce a stinted birk is left, 
To shiver in the blast its lane.'* 

" Alas ! said I, what ruefu' chance 
Has twin'd ye o' your stately trees ? 
Has laid your rocky bosom bare? 
Has stripp'd the cleading o' your braes ? 

Vv'as it the bitter feastling blast 

That scatters blight in early spring, 

Or was't the wilfire scorch'd their boughs ^ 

Or canker-worm wi' secret sting ?" 

" Nae eastlin blast, the sprite replied. 
It blew na here sae fierce and fell ; 
And on my dry and halesome banks 
Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell. 

Man ! — cruel man I— the Genius sigh'd. 
As through the cliff's he sank him down> 
The worm that gnawM v\y bonny trees. 
That reptile wears a ducal crovrn I'" 



ROBERT BURNS. 209 

TO A LADY, 

With a present of a pair of Drinking Glasses. 

FAIR Empress of the Poet's soul, 

And Queen of Poetesses; 
Clarinda, take this little boon, 

This humble pair of glasses. — 

And fill them high with generous juice, 

As generous as your mind ; 
And pledge me in the generous toast — 

" The whole of hwnan kind I" 

*' To those who love us .'" — second fill ; 

But not to those whom we love ; 
Lest we love those who love not us !— — 
A third—'* to thee and me^ love /" 



TO TERRAUGHTY,* 

ON HIS BIRTH-DAT. 

HEALTH to the Maxwell's vet'ran Chief \ 
Health, ay unsour'd by care or grief: 
Inspir'd, I turn*d Fate's sybil leaf. 

This natal morn, 
Fsee thy life is stuff o' prief, 

Scarce quite half worn.-^ 

This day thou metes threescore elevenj 
And' I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
(The seoond sight, ye ken, is given 

To ilka Poet,) 
On thee a tack o' seven times seven 

Will yet bestow it. 

^ Mr. Maxwell, of Terraughty, near Dumfrfee, 
T3 



210 TiU: POETICAL WORKS OF 

If envious buckics view \vi' sorrow 
Thy lengthen'd clays on this blest morrow, 
May desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow, 

Nine miles an hour, 
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stoure — 

But for thy friends, and they are mony, 
Baith honest men and lasses bonie, 
May couthie fortune, kind and cannie. 

In social glee, 
Wi* mornings blythe and e'enings funny 

Bless them and thee I 

Fareweel, auld birkie ! Lord be near ye. 
And then the Deil he daur na steer ye : 
Your friends ay love, your faes ay fear ye : 

For me, shame fa' me, 
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye 

While Burns they ea' me. 



MONODY, 

ON A LAt>i' FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE. 

MOW cold is that bosom which folly once fired, 

How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glis- 
^tened; 

How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired. 
How dull is that ear which to flattery so listened. 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 

From friendship and dearest affection removed ; 

Plow doubly severer, Eliza thy faie. 

Thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unloved. 

Loves, graces, and virtues, I call not on you, 
So shy, grave and distant, ye shed not a tear : 

But come, all ye oifspring of folly so true, 
And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier-. 



ROBERT BUKNir. 211 

We'll search through tbe e^arden for each silly flower, 
We'll roam through the forest for each idle weed ; 

But chiefly the nettle so typical shower, 
For none e*er approached her but rued the rash deed. 

We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay ; 

Here vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
There keen indignation shall dart on her prey, 

Which spurning contempt shall redeem from his ire. 



THE EPITAPH. 

Here lies now a prey to insulting neglect, 

What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam 

Want only of wisdom denied her respect, 
Want only of goodness denied her esteem. 



TO ROBERT GR2VHAM, Esq, OF FINTRY, 

On receiving" a Favour. 

I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains, 
A fabled Muse may suit a bard that feigns ; 
Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns, 
And all the tribute of my heart returns, 
For boons accorded, goodness ever new, 
The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 

Thou orb of day I thou other paler light ! 
And all ye many sparkling stars of night ; 
If aught that giver from my mind efface ; 
If 1 that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 
Then roll lo me, along your wandering spheres^;> 
Only to number out a villain's years I 



212 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



WRITTEN IN A WRAPPER INCLOSING A LETTER TQ 
CAPT. GROSE, TO BE LEFT WITH MR. CARDONNEL^ 
ANTIQUARIAN. 

Tune — ' Sir John Malcom.' 

KEN ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 

7^0, ^ ago. 
If he's among his friends or foes I 

Iram^ coram^ dago. 

Is he South, or is he North ? 

IgOy l!f ago. 
Or drowned in th« river Forth ? 
Irani, coram, dago. 

Is he slain by Highland bodies ? 

Igo, Isf ago. 
And eaten like a wether-haggis I 
Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he to Abram's bosom gane ? 

Igo, iSf ago. 
Or haudin Sarah by the wame ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him i 

Igo, U" ago. 
As for the deil he daur na steer him, 

Irum, coram, dago. 

But please transmit th* inclosed letter, 

Igo, l2^ ago. 
Which will oblige your humble debtor, 
Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 

Igo, ^ ago. ' 

The very stanes that Adam borc;^ 

Iram, coram, dage, . ^ ■ 



t 



ROBEtlT BURNS. 213 



So may ye get in glad possession ; 

Igo^ SiT* ago. 
The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 

Iram^ coram, dago. 



THE FOLLOWIJ^G POB.M Tf'JSWHTTTE.y TO Jt GE^'^ 
TLEMA.N- WHO HAD SEM'T HIM A jYEWSPAPER, 
AXJD OFFERED TO COJVTIjYUE IT FREE OF EX-^ 
PEjXSE. 

KIND Sir, I've read your paper through, 

And faith, to me, *t\vas really new I 

How guessed ye. Sir, whatmaist I v/anted? 

This mony a day I've grain *d and gaunted, 

To ken wh?t French mischief was brewin ; 

Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin ; 

That vile doup-skelper. Emperor Joseph, 

If Venus yet had got his nose off; 

Or how the collieshangie works 

Atween the Russians and the Turks ; 

Or if the Swede, before he halt. 

Would play anither Charles the twalt : 

If Denmark, any body spak o't ; 

Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't ; 

How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingln 

How libbet Italy was singin; 

If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, 

Were sayin or takin aught amiss : 

Or how our merry lads at hame, 

In Britain's court kept up the game : 

How Royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him I 

Was managing St. Stephen's quorum ; 

If sleekit Chatham Will was livin, 

Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; 

How daddie Burke the plea was cookin, \ 

If Warren Hasdngs' neck was yeukin ; 

How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd, 

Or if bare a — vet were tax'd ; 



214 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The news o' princes, dukes and earls, 
Pimps, sharpers, bawds and opera-giris ; 
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales, 
Was threshin still ai hizzies tails, 
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser. 
And no a perfect kintra cooser. 
A* this and mair I never heard of; 
And but for you I might despair'd of. 
So gratefu' back your news I send you, 
And pray, a* gude things may attend you I 



TWO STANZAS, 

COMPOSED AT THE AGE OF SEVENTEE>^, 
Cite of the oldeit of his printed pieces. 

I dreum'd I lay where flowers were springing, 

Guily in the sunny beam ; 
Listening to the wild birds singing, 

By a falling, chrystal stream ; 
Straight the sky grew black and daring ; 

Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave ; 
Trees with aged arms were warring. 

O'er the swelling drumlie wave, 
Such was my life's deceitful mornings 

Such the pleasures I enjoyed; 
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming 

A' my flow'ry bliss destroy'd. 
Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me, 

She promis'd fair and performed but ill ; 
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me, 

I bear a heart shall support me still. 



ROBERT BURNS. 215 



At a meeting of the Dumfrieshire Volunteers, held to commemo- 
rate the anniversary of Rodney's Victoi'y, (April 12th, 1782,) 
Burns was called upon for a song, instead of which he deliver- 
ed the following lines extempore, 

INSTEAD of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast, 
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost 
That we lost, did I say, nay by Heav'n that we found, 
For their fame it shall last while the world goes round. 
The next in succession, I'll give you the King, 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing ; 
And here's the grand fabric our free Constitution, 
As built on the base of the great Revolution ; 
And longer with Politics, not to be cramm'd, 
Be Anarchy curs'd, and be tyranny damn'd ; 
And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial 



TO GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq. Mauchline. 

(Recommending a boy) 

MosgavillCy May 3, 1*86, 

I HOLD it, Sir, my bounden duty 
To warn you how that Master Tootie, 

Alias Laird M'Gaun,* 
Was here to hire yon lad away 
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day, 

An' wad hae don't aff han' : 



* Mastev Tootie then lived in IVfaucldine,: a dealer In Cows. It 
was his common practice to cut the nicks or markings from the 
horns of cattle, to disguise their age.-He was an artful, trick-con- 
triving character; hence he is called a Snick -dra-tver. In the 
Poet's ^* Address to the Deil,'* he styles that august personage an 
iiuldt snick -dra-wing dog ! 



216 THE POETICAL WORKS Ot 

But lest he learn the callan tricks, 

As faith I muckle doubt him, 
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks, 
An' tellin lies about them ; 
As lieve then I'd have then, 

Your clerkship he should sair, 
If sae be, ye may be 
Not fitted otherwhere. 

Altho* I say't, he's gleg eneugh. 
An* bout a house that's rude an* rough, 

The boy might learn to swear 
But when \vi* you, he '11 be sae taught, 
An* get sic fair example straught, 
I hae nae ony fear. 
Ye'll catechise him every quirk. 

An' shore him weel wi' hell ; 

An' gar him follow to the kirk 

— Ay when ye gang yourself 
If ye then, maun be then 

Frae hame this comin Friday, 
Then please sir, to lea'e sir. 
The orders wi' your lady. 

My word of honor I hae gien, 
In Paisley John's that night at e'en. 

To meet the WarlcCs worm ; 
To try to get the twa to gree. 
An' name the airles* an' the f6e. 

In legal mode an' form : 
I ken he weel a Snick can draw. 

When simple bodies let him ; 
An' if a Devil be at a'. 

In faith he 's sure to get him. 
To phrase you an' praise you. 

Ye ken your Laureat scorns : 
The pray'r still, you share still. 
Of grateful Minstrel Burns. 

* The ^ir/(?5— Earnest raonfey. 



ROBERT RHRNS. 217 

LINES 

WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS. ICEMBLE, 

On seeing her in the character of Yarico. 

KEMBLE, thou cur*st my unbelief 

Of Moses and his rod ; 
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief, 

The rock with tears had flow'd. 



LOUIS WHAT RECK I BY THEE. 

LOUIS what reck I by thee, 

Or Geordie on his ocean: 
Dyvor, beggar louns to me, 

1 reign in Jeanie's bosom. 

Let her crown my love her law, 

And in her breast enthrone me: 
Kings and nations, swith awa ! 

Reif randies I disown ye ! 



VERSES, 

.WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON, 
THE POET. 

Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd, 
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure. 
O thou my elder brother in misfortune, 
By far my elder brother in the muses. 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
Why is the bard unpitied by the world, 
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures ? 

U 



218 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

ON THE DEATH OF 

SIR JAMES HUNTER BLxllR. 

THE lamp of day with ill-presaging glare, 
Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ; 

Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro* the darkening air. 
And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. 

Lone as I wandered by each cliff and dell, 

Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train ;* 

Or musM where limpid streams once hallow'd, Avell,t 
Or mould'ring ruins mark'd the sacred Fane.^ 

Th' increasing blast roarM round the beetling rocks, 
The clouds swifi-wing'd flew o'er the starry sky, 

The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, 
And shooting meteors caught the startling eye. 

The paly moon rose in the livid east, 
And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately form, 

In words of woe that frantic beat her breast, 
And mix-d her wailings with tlie raging storm. 

Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 
'Twas Caledonivi's trophied shield I view'd : 

Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, 
The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. 

Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, 
Recliu'd that banner, erst in fields unfiu'l'd, 

That like a deathful meteor .c;leam'd afar. 
And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world. — 

" My patriot son fills an untimely grave !'* 
With accents wild, and lifted iirms she cried ; 

" Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, 
" Low lies the heart that swelPd with honest pride ! 

* The King's Park, at Holyrood-house'. 
t St. Antiiony's Well. 
^ St. Anthony's Chapel. 



UOBEUT BURNS. 219 

" A weeping country joins a widow's tear, 
" The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry ; 

" The drooping arts surround their patron's bier, 
" And grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh. — 

" I saw my sons resume their ancient fire ; 
" I saw fair freedom's blo?>soms richly blow : 

" But ah how hope is born but to expire ! 
»' Relentless fate has laid their guardian low.-— 

" My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung, 
" While empty greatness saves a worthless name ! 

*' No ; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue, 
" And future ages hear his growing fame. 

" And I will join a mother's tender cares, 
" Thro' future times to make his virtues last ; 

" That distant years may boast of other Blairs" — 
She said, and vunish'd with the sweeping blast. — 



SKETCH OF A STAJSrZA TO LIBERTY, 

THEE, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among, 
Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song, 

To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; 
Where is that soul of freedom fled ? 
Immingled with the mighty dead ! 

Beneath that hallowed turf where Wallace lies ! 
Hear, it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death ! 

Ye babbling winds, in silence weep ; 

Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, 
Nor give the coward secret breath 

Is this the power in freedom's war 

That wont to bid the battle rage ? 
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate, 

Crushing the despot's proudest bearing, 



220 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

That arm which, nerved with thundering fate, 

Braved usurpation's boldest daring I 
One quenched in darkness like the sinking star, 
And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless ajje. 



HIC JACET WEE JOHNNY. 

WHOE'ER thou art, O reader know. 
That death hus murderM Johnnie 1 

An' here his body lies fu' low 

For saul he ne'er had ony. 



ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR 

2 etwee:? the duke OF ARGYLE and the EARL OF MAll 

<« O CAM ye here the fight to shun, 

" Or herd the sheep wi* me, man ? 
" Or ware ye at the Sherra-muir, 

" And did the battle see, man ?" 
I saw the battle, sair and tough. 
And reekin-red ran mony a sheugh, 
My heart for fear gae sough for sough, 
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds 
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds, 

Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. 

The red-coat lads wi* black cockades 

To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd, 

And mony a bouk* did fa', man : 
The great Argyle led on his files,^ 
I wat they glanced twenty miles : 
They hack'd and hash'd while broad swords clash'd, 
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, 

'Till fey menf died awa, man. 

* Bouk — dead body. f Fey men — enemies. 



ROBERT BURNS. 221 

But had you seen the philibegs, 

And skyrin tartan trews, man, 
When in the teeth they dar'd our whigs, 

And covenant true bhies, man ; 
In lines extended lang and large, 
When bayonets oppos'd the targe, 
And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath 
Drew blades o* death 'till, out o' breath, 

They fled like frighted doos, man. 

" O how deil Tarn can that be true ? 

" The chase gaed frae the north, man ; 
" I saw myself, they did pursue 

" The horsemen back to Forth, man; 
" And at Dunblane, in my ain sight, 
" They took the brig wi' a' their might, 
" And straught to Stirling winged their flight ; 
" But cursed lot ; the gattis were shut ; 
" And mony a huntit, poor red-coat 

*< For fear amaist did swarf, man." 

My sister Kate cam up the gate 

Wi' crowdie unto me, man : 
She swoor she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : 
Their left-hand general had nae skill, 
The Angus lads had nae good will 
That day their neebers blood to spill ; 
For fear, by foes, that they should lose 
Their cogs o' brose; all crying woes, 

And so it goes you see, man ; 

TheyVe lost some gallant gentlemen, 

Amang the Highland clans, man ; 
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain. 

Or fallen in whiggish hands, man : 
Now wad ye sing this double fight. 
Some fell for wrang, and some for right ; 
But mony bade the world gude night ; 
Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, 
By red cktymores and musket's knell, 
Wi dying yell the lories fell. 

And whigs to hell did flee, man. 
U2 



ooo THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

ELEGY. 

ON THE LATE MISS BURNET, OT MONBODDO. 

LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize, 
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies ; 
Nor envious death so triumphed in a blow, 
As that which laid th* accomplish'd Burnet low. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget ; 
In richest ore, the brightest jewel set ! 
In thee high Heaven above, was truest shown, 
As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known. 

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves ; 

Thou chrystal streamlet with thy flowery shore^ 
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves, 

Ye cease to charm ; Eliza is no more. 

Ye heathy wastes immix'd with reedy fens, 

Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stor'd, 

Ye rugged clifts o'erhanging dreary glens, 
To you I fly, ye with my soul accord. 

Princes whose cumb'rous pride was all their worth* 
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail ? 

And thou sweet excellence ! forsake our earth, 
And not a muse in honest grief bewail. 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, 
And virtue's light that beams beyond the spheres ; 

But like the sun eclips'd at morning tide. 
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care : 

So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree, 
Se from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 



ROBERT BURNS. 223 

POEM ON LIFE. 

ADDRESSED TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. 

. MY honored colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the poet's weal ; 
Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speel 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bolus pill. 

And potion glasses. 

O what a canty warld were it, 
Would pain and care, and sickness spare it j 
And fortune favor worth and merit, 

As they deserve : 
(And ay a rowth, roast beef and claret ; 

Syne wha would starve ?) 

Dame life, tho' fiction out may trick her. 
And in paste gems and frippery deck her ; 
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker 

I've found her still. 
Ay wavering like the willow wicker, 

*Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole auld Satan, 
Watches, like bawd'rons by a rattan. 
Our sinfu' saul to get a claute on 

Wi* felon ire ; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on, 

He's off like fire. 

Ah ! Nick, ah Nick it is na fair, 
First shewing us the tempting ware, 
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare, 

To put us daft ; 
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare 

O hell's damned waft> 



224 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Poor man the flie, aft bizzes bye, 
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh, 
Thy auld damned elbow yeuks wi' joy, 

And hellish pleasure ; 
Already in thy fancy's eye, 

Thy sicker treasure. 

Soon heels o' gowdie ! in he gangs, 
And like a sheep-head on a tangs. 
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murdering wrestle, 
As dangling in the wind he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil, 
To plague you with this draunting drivel, 
Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen : 
The Lord preserve us frae the devil 

Amen ! amen ! 



ON VIEWIKG THE PALACE 

OF HOLY-ROOD-HOUSE, 

THE RESIDENCE OF THE KI^GS OF SCOTLAND. 

WITH awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, 

I view that noble, stately dome, 
Where Scotia's kings, of other years, 

Fam'd heroes I had their royal home. 

Alas ! how changM, the times to come, 

Their royal name, low in the dust ; 
Their hapless race, wild-wand' rir.-g roam, 

Though rigid law cries out, " 'twas just.'* 



KOBERT BURNS. 225 



Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps, 
Whose ancestors in days of yore, 

Through hostile ranks, and ruin'd gaps, 
Old Scotia's bloody lion bore. 

E'en I who sing in rustic lore. 

Haply 7ny sires have left their slied, 

And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar. 
Bold following where ijour fathers led. 



JOHN BARLEYCORN*, A BALLAD 

THERE were three kings into the east, 

Three kings both great and high 
An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a plough and ploughed him down, 

Put clods upon his head, 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John IBarleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful spring came kindly on, 

And show'rs began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surpris'd them all. 

The sultry suns of summer came, 

And he grew thick and strong, 
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,, 

That no one should him wrong. 

The sober autumn enter'd mild, 

When he grew wan and pale ; 
His bending joints and drooping head 

Show'd he began to fail. 

* This is partly composed on the plan of an old song^ knowri 
by the same name. 



226 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

His colour sickenM more and more, 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To shew their deadly rage. 

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then ty'd him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back, 
And cudgeli'd him full sore ; 

They hung him up before the storm, 
And turn*d him o'er an o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor, 

To work him farther woe, 
And still, as signs of life appear'd, 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

* 

They wasted o'er a scorching flame, 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller us'd him worst of all, 

For he crush'd him 'tween two stones. 

And they hae taen his very heart's blood, 
And drank it round and round ; 

And still the more and more they dr^nk, 
Their joy did more abound. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise. 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise, 

'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

'Twill heighten all his joy : 
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 

Tho* the tear were in her eye, 



ROBERT BURNS. 227 



Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 
Each man a glass in hand ; 

And may his great posterity 
Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! 



IMPROMPTU, ON Mrs. S BIRTH-DAY. 

OLD winter with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred ; 
What have I done of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe? 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow : 
My dismal months no joys are crowning, 
But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. 

Now Jove for once be mighty civil. 

To counterbalance all this evil ; 

Give me, and I've no more to say. 

Give me Maria's natal day ! 

That brilliant gift will so enrich me. 

Spring, summer, autun;n, cannot match me ; 

'Tis done ! says Jove ; so ends my story. 

And winter once rejoic'd in glory. 



ANSWER TO A SUPERVISOR'S MxlNDATE. 

SIR, as your mandate did request, 

I send you here a faithfu' list. 

My horses, servants, carts and graith, 

To which I'm free to take my aith. 

Imprimis, then for carriage cattle, 

I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle. 

As ever drew before a pettle. 

My hand-afore^ a guid auld has been. 

And wight and wilfu' a' his days seen ; 



228 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

My hand-a-hin^ a gude brown filly, 
Wha aft has borne me safe frae Killic ; 
And your auld borough mony a time, 
In days when riding was nae crime : 
Myy'wr-a-Am, a guid, gray beast, 
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd : 
The fourth, a Highland Donald hasty, 
A d-mn'd red-wud, Kilburnie blastie. 
For-by a cowte, of cowtes the wale, 
As ever ran before a tail ; 
An' he be spar'd to be a beast, 
He'll draw me fifteen puod at least. 

Wheel carriages I hae but few, 
Three carts, and twa are feckly new ; 
An auld wheel-barrow, mair for token, 
Ae leg and baith the trams are broken ; 
I made a poker o' the spindle, 
And my auld mither brunt the trundle. 
For men, I've three mischievous boys, 
Run-deils for rantin and for noise ; 
A gadsman ane, a thresher tother. 
Wee Davoc bauds the nowte in fother« 
I rule them as I ought discreetly. 
And often labour them completely. 
And ay on Sundays duly nightly, 
I on the questions tairge them tightly, 
'Till faith wee Davoc's grown sae gleg, 
(Tho' scarcely langer than my leg) 
He'll screed you off effectual calling; 
As fast as ony in the dwalling. 

I've nane in female servant station. 
Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation ! 
1 hae nae wife, and that my bliss is, 
And ye hae laid nae tax on misses ; 
For weans I'm mair than weel contented, 
Heaven sent me ane mair than I wanted 3 
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
She stares the daddie in her face, 
Enough of ought ye like but grace. 



} 



ROBERT BURNS. Z29 

But her, my bonny, sweet, wee lady, 
I've said enough for her already, 
And if ye tax her or her mither. 
By the L— d ye'se get them a' theg ither ! 

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 

Nae kind of licence out I'm taking. 

Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle. 

E'er I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 

I' ve sturdy stumps, the Lord be thank it '. 

And a' my gates on foot I'll shank it. 

This list wi* my ain hand I've wrote it, 
The day and date as under noted ; 
Then know all ye whom it concerns 
Subscrijisi huic 

ROBERT BURNS. 

SIvETCH. NEW YEAR'S DAY. 

TO Mrs. DUNLOP. 

THIS day. Time winds th' exhausted chain. 
To run the twelvemonth's length again :— 
I see the old, bald-pated fellow. 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust th' unimpair'd machine. 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir. 
In vain assail him with their prayer, 
Deaf as my friend, he sees them press, 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will you (the Major's with the hounds. 
The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day, 
And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray ;) 
From housewife cares a minute borrow— 
—That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow — 
And join with me a moralizing. 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 
X 



230 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

First, what did yesternight deliver ? 

" Another year is gone for ever." 

And wliat is this day's strong suggestion ? 

" The passing moment's all we rest on !'* 

Jlest on — for what ? what do we here ? 

C)v why regard the passing year ? 

Will time, amus'd with proverbM lore, 

Add to our date one minute more ? 

A few days may — a few years must — 

Repose us in the silent dust. 

Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 

Yes — ^11 such reasonings are amiss ! 

The voice of nature loudly cries. 

And many a message from the skies 

That something in us never dies : 

That on this frail, uncertain state, 

Hang matters of eternal weight ; 

That future-life in wodds unknown 

Must take its hue from this alone : 

Whether as heavenly glory bright, 

Or dark as misery's woeful night — 

Since then, my honor'd, first of friends, 

On this poor being all depends ; 

Let us th' important now employ 

And live as those who never die. 

Tho' you with days and honors crown'd, 

Witness that filial circle round, 

( A sight life's sorrows to repulse, 

A sight pale envy to convulse) 

Others now claim your chief regard ; 

Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 



EPITAPH FOR G. II. Esc^. 

The poor man weeps — here G n sleeps, 

Whom canting wretches blam'd : 

But with such as hc^ where'er he be, 
May I be sav''d or d • < d ! 



} 



ROBERT BURNS. 231 



TO MR. M' ADxlM, OF CRAIGEN-GILLAlSr, 

In answer to an obliging letter he sent in tllfe commencement of 
my poetic career. 

SIR, o'er a gill I gat your card, 

I trow it made me proud ; 
See wha taks notice o' the bard ! 

I lap and cry'd fu' loud. 

Now dcil-ma-care about the jaw, 

The senseless, gawky million ; 
I '11 cock my nose aboon them a', 

I 'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan ! 

'Twas noble. Sir ; 'twas like yoursel, 

To grant your high protection : 
A great man's smile ye ken fu' well. 

Is ay a blest infection. 

Tho' by his* banes wha in a tub 

Match'd Macedonian Sandy ! 
On my ain legs thro' dirt and dub, 

I independent stand ay. — 

And when those legs to gude, warm kail, 

Wi' welcome canna bear me j 
A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail, 

A barley-scone shall cheer me. 

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath 

O' mony flow*ry simmers ! 
And bless your bonie lasses baith, 

I *m tald they 're loosome kimmers ! 

And God ble^s young Dunaskin's laird, 

The blossom of our gentry ! 
And may he wear an auld man's beard, 

A credit to his country. 

* Diogenes. 



232 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

ELEGY 

ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUISSEAUX*. 

NOW Robin lies in his last lair, 
He '11 gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, 
Cauld poverty \vi' hungry stare, 

Nae mair shall fear him ; 
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care 

E'er mair come near him. 

To tell the truth, they seldom fash't him, 
Except the moment that they crush't him ; 
For sune as chance or fate had husht 'em 

Tho' e'er sae short, 
Then wi' a rhyme or song he lash't 'em 

And thought it sport. — 

Tho' he was bred to kintra wark, 
And counted was baith wight and stark, 
Yet that was never Robin's mark 

To mak a man ; 
But tell him, he was learn *d and dark, 
Ye roos*d him then ! 



TO A YOUNG LADY. 

WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS. 

THINE be the volumes Jessy fair, 
And with them take the poet's prayer ; 
That fate may in her fairest page, 
AVith every kindliest, best presage. 
Of future bliss, enrol thy name : 
With native worth, and spotless fame, 
And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill—but chief, man's felon snare ; 

* JRuisseaux'^a, play on his own name 



ROBERT BURNS. 233 



All blameless joys on earth we find, 
And all the treasures of the mind — 
These be thy guardian and re\/ard ; 
So prays thy faithful friend, the bard. 



POETICAL ADDRESS TO Mr. Wm. TYTLER, 

WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD'S PICTURE. 

REVERED defender of beauteous Stuart, 

Of Stuart, a name once respected, 
A name which to love was the mark of a true heart. 

But now 'tis despised and neglected : 

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh, 

Still more, if that wand*rer were royal. 

My fathers, that name have rever'd on a throne ; 

My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son> 

That name should he scoffingly slight it. 

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join^ 
The Queen, and the rest of the gentry. 

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine ; 
Their title *s avow'd by my country. 

But why of that epocha make such a fuss, 

But loyalty truce ! we 're on dangerous ground. 
Who knows how the fdshions may alter, 

The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound, 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 
X2 



234 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 
But accept it, good sir as a mark of regard, 

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye, 

And ushers the long dreary night : 
But you like the star that athwart gilds the sky, 

Your course to the latest is bright. 



CALEDONIA. 

Tune — " Caledonian Hunt's delight." 

THERE was once a day, but old Time then was young, 

That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, 
From some of your northern deities sprung, 

(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine ?) 
From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, 

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : 
Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign, 

And pledged their godheads to warrant it good. 

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, 

The pride of her kindred, the heroine grew : 
Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore,* — 

" Whoe'er shall provoke thee th* encounter shall rue !" 
With tillage or pasture at times she would sport. 

To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn. 
But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort. 

Her darling amusement the hounds and the horn. 

Long quiet she reigned ! till thitherward steers 

A flight of bold eagles from Adrians strand :* 
Repeated successive for many long years. 

They darken'd the air and they plunderM the landj 
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, 

They conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside: 
She took to her hills and her arrows let fly, 

The daring invaders they fled or they died. 

* The Romans. 



ROBERT BURNS. 235 

The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, 

The scourge of the seas and the dread of the shore ;* 
The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth 

To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore :t 
O'er country and kingdoms their fury prevail'd, 

No arts could appease them, no arms could repel ; 
But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd, 

As Largs well can witness and Loncartie tell.l 

The Camelion -savage disturbed her repose. 
With tumult, disquiet, rebellion and strife ; 

Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose, 

And robbM him at once of his hopes and his life :§ 

The Anglian lion the terror of France, 

Oft prowling ensanguinM the Tweed's silver flood ; 
But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, 

He learned to fear in his own native wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd and free. 

Her bright course of glory forever shall run , 
For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; 

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as th6 sun : 
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll chuse. 

The upright is Chance, and old time is the base, 
But brave Caledonia's the hypotenuse ; 

The ergo she'll match them, and match them always. 



THE LAZY MIST. 

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill. 
Concealing the course of the dark winding rill; 
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear, 
' s autumn to winter resigns the pale year. 



t 



* The Saxons. f The Danes, 

famous battles In whicl 

5 The Highlanders of the isles. 



i Two famous battles In which the Danes or Norwegians were 
defeated. 



236 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, 

And all the gay foppery of summer is fiqwny 

Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, 

How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues ; 

How long I have liv'd — but how much liv'd in vain ; 

How little of life's scanty span may remain : 

What aspects, old time, in his progress has worn ; 

What ties, cruel fate, in my bosom has torn. 

How foolish, or worse, 'till our summit is gain*d ! 

And downward, how weaken'd, how darken*d, how 

pain'd I 
This life 's not worth having with all it can give, 
For something beyond it poor man sure must live. 



EXTEMPORE, 

ON THE LATE Mr WILLL^M SMELLIE. 

To Crochallan came 
The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout, the same ; 
His bristling beard just rising in its might, 
'Twas four long nights and days to shaving-night. 
His uncomb*d grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd, 
A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd, 
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude, 
His heart was wai'm, benevolent and good. 



POETICAL INSCRIPTION, 

FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE. 

THOU of an independent mind 
With soul resolv'd^ wiih soul resigned ; 
PreparM pow'rs proudest frown to brave, 
Who wilt not be, nor have a slave ; 
Virtue alone who dost revere. 
Thy own reproach alone dost fear, 
Approach this shrine, and worship here. 



} 



ROBERT BURNS. 237 

SENT TO A 

GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD OFFENDED. 

THE friend whom wild from wisdom's way, 
The fumes of wine infuriate send ; -v- 

(Not moony madness more astray) 

Who but deplores that hapless friend ? 

Mine was th* insensate frenzied part, 

Ah why should I such scenes outlive I 
Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 

'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 



A verse composed and repeated by Burns, to the Master of the 
house, on taking leave at a place in the Highlands where he- 
had been hospitably entertained. 

WHEN death's dark stream I ferry o*er, 

A time that surely shall come ; 
In heaven itself, I'll ask no more, 

Than just a Highland welcome. 



SONNET, ON THE DEATH OF Mr. RIDDEL. 

No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more, 
Nor pour your descant grating on my ear; 
Thou young-eyed spring, thy charms I cannot bear ; 

More welcome were to me grim winter's wildest roar. 

How can ye please, ye flowers with all your dyes ? 

Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend : 

How can I to the tuneful strain attend ? 
That strain pours round th' untimely tomb where Riddel 
lies. 



238 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

SONNET, ON HEARING A THRUSH SING 

ON THE MORNING OF HIS BIRTH-DAY. 

SING on sweet thrush upon the leafless bough, 
Sing on sweet bird, I listen to thy strain. 
See aged winter 'mid his surly reign, 

At thy blithe carrol clears his furrowed brow, 

So in lone poverty's dominion drear. 

Sits meek content with light unanxious heart, 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, 

Nor asks if they bring ought to hope cfr fear. 

I thank thee, author of this opening day ! 

Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies ! 

Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys. 
What wealth could never give nor take away ! 

Yet come thou child of poverty and care. 
The mite high heav*n bestowM, that mite with thee I '11 
share. 



EXTEMPORE. 

ON REFUSING TO DINE WITH Mr. S**E, 

No more of your guests, be they titled or not 
And Cook'ry the first in the nation : 

Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, 
Is proof to all other temptation. 



TO MR. S^^E, 

WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER. 

O HAD the malt thy strength of mind, 

Or hops the flavour of thy wit ; 
'Twere drink for first of human kind, 

A gift that e'en for S**e were fit. 



ROBERT BtJRNS. 239 

SENT AVITH A COPY OF HIS POEMS 

TO AN OLD SWEETHEART. 

ONCE fondly lov'd and still remember'd dear, 
Sweet early object of my youthful vows, 

Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere, 
Friendship 1 'tis all cold duty now allows. — 

And when you read the simple artless rhymes 
One friendly sigh for him, he asks no more, 

Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes, 
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic's roar. 



TO THE OWL. 

Sad bird of night, what sorrow calls thee forth. 
To vent thy plaints thus in the midnight hour ? 

Is it some blast that gathers in the north, 
Threat'ning to nip the verdure of thy bow'r? 

Is it, sad owl, that autumn strips the shade. 
And leaves thee here, unshelter'd and forlorn ? 

Or fear that winter will thy nest invade ? 
Or friendless n\glancholy bids thee mourn ? 



Shut out, lone bird, from all the feather'd train, 
To tell thy sorrows to th' unheeding gloom j 

No friend to pity when thou dost complain. 
Grief all thy thought, and solitude thy home. 

Sing on, sad mourner ! I will bless thy strain, 
And pleas'd in sorrow listen to thy song : 

Sing on, sad mourner 1 to the night complain, 
While the lone echo wafts thy notes along. 

Is beauty less, when down the glowing cheek 

^ad, piteous tears, in native sorrows fall ? 
tLess kind the heart when anguish bids it break ? 
* Less happy he who lists to pity's call ? 



■^ 



240 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Ah no, sad owl ! nor is thy voice less sweet, 
That sadness tunes it, and that grief is there ; 

That spring's gay notes unskiil'd, thou canst repeat : 
That sorrow bids thee to the gloom repair : 

Nor that the treble songsters of the day, 

Are quite estrang'd, sad bird of night ! from thee ; 

Nor that the thrush deserts the evening spray. 
When darkness calls thee from thy reverie.—- 

From some old tow'^ thy melancholy dome. 
While the gray wst.. And desert solitudes. 

Return each note, respoi:sive to the gloom 
Of ivied coverts and surrounding woods ; 

There hooting ; I will list n^re pleas'd to thee, 

Than ever lover to the nightingale ; 
Or drooping wretch, oppressed with misery, 

Lending his ear to some condoling tale. 



TO Dr. BLACKLOCK. 

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie ? 
I ken*d it still your wee bit jauntie, 

Wad bring ye to : 
Lord send you ay as weel's I want ye, 

And then ye '11 do. 

The ill-thief blaw the Heron south I 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 
He tald mysel by word o' mouth, 

He 'd tak my letter ; 
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth, 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins honest master Heron, 
Had at the time some dainty fair one. 
To ware his theologic care on. 

And holy study ; 
And tired o' sauls to waste his lear on, 

E'en tried the body. 



.^^ 



ROBEBT BURX3. 241 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier, 
I'm turn'd a gauger— Peace be here I 
Parnassian queens, I fear, I fear, 

Ye*ll now disdain me, 
And then my fifty pounds a year 

Will little gain me. 

Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies, 
Wha by Castalia's whimplin streamies, 
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbics. 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 
They maun hae brose and brats o* duddies i 
Ye ken yoursel my heart right proud is, 

I need na vaunt. 
But I'll sned besoms — thraw saugh woodiesj* 
Before they want. 

Lord help me thro' this warld o' care I 
I*m weary sick o't late and air ! 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Than mony ithers ; 
But why should ae man better fare, 

And a' men brithers I 

Come Firm Resolve take thou the van, 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man ! 
And let us mind faint heart ne*er wan 

A lady fair : 
Wae does the utmost that he can. 

Will whyles do mair. 

But to conclude my silly rhyme, 
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) 
To make a happy fire-side clime 
^ To weans and wife, 

%hat's the true pathos and sublime 
Of human life. 

* To twist withes. 



242 THE POETICAL WORKS Or 

My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
I wat she is a dainty chuekie, 

As e*er tread clay 1 
And gratefully my good auld cockie, 
I'm yours for ay. 

ROBERT BURNS. 



FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE. 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Scenes that other thoughts renew, 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure? 
Now a sad and last adieu ! 

Bonny doon sae sweet at gloamin, 

Fare thee weel before I gang : 
Bonny doon whare early roaming, 

First I weav'd the rustic sang I 

Bowers adieu ! whare Love, decoying, 
First enthrall'd this heart o' mine, 

There the saftest sweets enjoying — 
Sweets that mem'ry ne'er can tine 

Friends so near my bosom ever. 

Ye hae render'd moments dear, 
But alas 1 when forc'd to sever, 

Tnen the strock, O how severe I 

Friends ! that parting tear reserve it, 

Tho' 'tis doubly dear to me ! 
Could I think I did deserve it. 

How much happier would I be ! 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Scenes thc.t former thoughts renew, 

Bcene^- of woe and scenes of pleasure. 
Now a sad and last adieu ! 



ROBERT BUHNS. 2^3 

(♦ 

ON SEEING 

THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OF LORD G. 

What dost thou in that mansion fair ? 

Flit G and find 

Some narrow, dirty, dungeon ca^, 

The picture c^ thy mind ! 



EPITAPH ON FERGUSSON. 

No sculptur'd marble here, ixor pompous lay, 
" No storied urn nor animated bust ;" 

This siiTiple stone directs pale Scotia's way. 
To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust. 



SONGS. 



THE FAREWELL, TO THE BRETHERN 

OF St. JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON. 

Tune, * Goodnight and joy be wi' you a." 

ADIEU ! a heart-warm, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the 7nystic tye ! 
Ye favoured, ye enlightened few, 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, 
^;|it^Pursuing fortune's sliddVy ba', 
with melting heart and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho* far awa'. 

Oft have I met your social band. 

And spent the cheerful festive night ; 
Oft, honour'd with supreme command, 

Presided o'er the sons o' light : 
And by that hieroglyfihic bright, 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! 
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 

Those happy scenes when far awa' ! 

May freedom, harmony and love, 

Unite you in the grand design^ 
Beneath th' omniscient eye above, 

The glorious Arcldtect divine ! 
That you may keep th* unerring line ^ 

Still rising by the filummet^s lanv^ 
Till order bright completely shine, 

Shall be my prayer when far awa' 



IIOBERT BURNS. 245 



And you farewell ! whose merits claim, 

Justly that highest bidge to wear ! 
Heav'n bless your honourM noble name, 

To Masonrij and Scotia dear I 
A last request permit me here, 

When yearly ye assemble a*, 
One rounds I ask it with a tear^ 

To him, the Bard that'* s far a^a\ 



TAM GLEN. 

My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie, 
Some counsel unto me come len' ; 

To anger them a' is a pity, 

But what will I do wi' Tarn Glen ? 

I'm thinking wi* sic a braw fallow. 

In poortith 1 might mak a fen : 
What care I in riches to wallow. 

If I mauna marry Tani Glen. 

There's Lowrie the Laird o' Dumeller, 
" Gude day to you," brute ! he comes ben 

He brags and he blaws o' his siller. 
But when will he dance like Tarn Glen? 

My minnie does constantly deave me. 
And bids me beware o' young men. 

They flatter, she says to deceive me. 
But wha can think sae o* Tam Glen. 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, 
He*ll gie me gude hunder marks ten : 

But, if its ordain'd I maun tak him, 
O wha will I get but Tam Glen? 

Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, 
My heart to my mou gied a sten ; 

For thrice I drew ane without failing. 
And thrice it was written Tam Glen I. 
¥2 



246 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The last Hallowe'en I was waukiri 
My dioukit-sark sleeve, as ye ken ; 

His likeness cam up the house staukin, 
And the very grey breeks o' Tain glen I 

Come counsel, dear Tittle, don't tarry ; 

I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, 
Gif ye will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly, Tarn Glen. "♦ 



COUNTRY LASSIE. 

IN simmer when the hay was mawn, 

And corn wav'd green in ilka field, 
While clover blooms white o'er the lea. 

And roses blaw in ilka bield ; 
.Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel, 

Says I'll be wed come o't what will ; 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild, 

O' gude advisement comes nae ill. 

Its ye hae wooers mony ane, 

And lassie ye 're but young ye ken ; 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale, 

A routhie butt, a routhie ben : 
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, tii' is his byre ; 
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen. 

It's plenty beets the lover's fire. 

For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

I dinna care a single flie ; 
He loes sae well his crijps and kye 

He has nae love to sj^are for me : 
But biythe's the blink o' Robie's e'e, 

And weel I wat he lo'es me dear : 
Ae blink o' him I wad a gic 

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. 



ROBERT BURNS. 24; 



O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught, 

The canniest i^ate, the strife is sair ; 
But ay fu' han*t is fechtin best, 

A hungry care 's an unco care : 
But some will spend, and sos-.e will spare, 

An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will : 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, 

Keep mind that ye maun drhik the yill. 

O gear will buy me rigs o' land. 

And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
But the tender heart o* leesome love, 

The gowd and siller cunna buy : 
We may be poor Robie and I, 

Light is the burden love lays on ; 
Content and love brings peace and joy, 

What mair hae queens upon a throne ? 



CLABINDA. 

CLARINDA, mistress of my soul, 

The measur'd time is run ! 
The wretch beneath the dreary pole, 

So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Sylvander hie; 
Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, 

The sun of all his joy. 

We part — but by these precious drops, 

That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No other light shall guide my steps, 

'Till thy bright beams arise. 

She, the fair sun of all her sex* 
Has blest my glorious d ;y : 

And shall a glimmering planet fix 
My wiirsliip to it3 ray ? 



248 TWE POETICAL WORKS OF 



THEPOSIE. 

O LUVE will venture in, where it ddur na weel be 

seen, 
O luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been ; 
But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae 

green, 
And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. 

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, 
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear. 
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a 
peer, 
And a* to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view» 
For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou ; 
The hyacinth's for constancy wi' its unchanging blue, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, 
And in her lovely bosom, I'll place the lily there : 
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air. 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu', w^ith its locks o' siller grey, 
Where like an aged man, it stands at break o' day. 
But the songsters's nest within the bush, 1 winna tak 
away ; 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near. 
And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her e'en sae 

clear ; 
The violet for modesty which weel she fa's to wear, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

I'll tie the posie round wi* a silken band o' luve. 
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a* above, 
That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er 
remuve. 
And this will be a posie to my ain dear May, 



ROBERT BURNS. 249 



WILT 1 IIOU BE MY DEARIE. 

WILT thou be my dearie ; 

When sorrow wrings the gentle heart, 
O wilt thou let me cheer thee ; 

By the treasure of my soul, 
And that's the love I bear thee ! 

I swear and vow, that only thou, 
Shall ever be my dearie. 

Only thou, I swear and vow, 

Shall ever be my dearie. 

Lassie say thou lo'es me ; 

Or if thou wilt na be my ain, 
Say na thou 'It refuse me : 

If it winna, canna be, 
Thou, for thine, may chuse me ; 

Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 

Lassie, let me quickly die, 

Trusting that thou lo'es me. 



A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALKS. 

A ROSE-bud by my early walks, 
Adown a corn-inclosed bawk, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 
All on a dewy morning. 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
In a' its crimson glory spread. 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 
It scents tlie early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breasl 
Sae earlv in the mornin^r. 



250 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o* the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew *d; 
Awak the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany Mr, 
On trembling string or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
That tents thy early morning. 

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay 
Shalt beauteous blaze uj>on the day, 
And bless the parent's evening ray 
That watch'd thy early morning. 



BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL. 

O LEEZE me on my spinnin-wheel, 
O leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, 
And haps me fie 1 and warm at e*en I 
I'll set me down and sing ana spin, 
While laigh descends the simmer sun, 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal— 
O leeze me on my spinnin-wheel. 

On ilka hand the burnies trot, 
And meet below my theekit cot : 
The scented birk and hawthorn white 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest, 
And little fishes caller rest: 
The sun blinks kindly in the biel*, 
Where, blythe I turn my spinnin wheel- 
On lofty aiks the cushats wail, 
And echo cons the doolfu* tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes^. 
Delighted rival ither's lays : 



ROBERT BURNS. 251 



The craik anian.^ the clover hay, 
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley", 
The swallow jinkin round my shiel, 
Amuse me at my spinnin wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell and less to buy, 
Aboon distreess, below envy, 
O wha wad leave this humble state, 
For a* the pride of a* the great ? 
Amid their flaring, idle toys. 
Amid their cumb'rous dinsome joys, 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinnin wheel ! 



O WHAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN 

O WAT yc "wha's in yon town, 

Ye see the e^enin sun upon, 
The fairest dame's in yon town. 

That e'enin sun is shining on. 

Now haply down yon gay green shaw : 
She wanders by yon spreading tree, 

How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw, 
Ye catch the glances o* her e*e. 

How blest ye birds that round her sing. 
And welcome in the blooming year. 

And doubly welcome be the spring, 
The season to my Lucy dear. 

The sun blinks blythe on yon town. 

And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr ; 
But my delight in yon town, 

And dearest bliss is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a* the charms, 

O* paradise could yield me joy ; 
But gie me Lucy in my arms. 

And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. 



252 THE POETICAL WORKS Or 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
Tho' raging winter rent the air ; 

And she a lovely little flower, 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 

sweet is she in yon town. 

Yon sinkin sun's gane down up»n ; 
A fairer than's in yon town, 
Plis setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry fate is sworn my foe, 

And suffering I am doom'd to bear I 

1 careless quit aught else below. 

But spare me, spare me Lucy dear. 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart, 

\nd she — as fairest is her form ! 
She has the truest, kindest heart. 



A RED, RED ROSE 

O !MY luve's like a red, red rose. 
That's newly sprung in June ; 

my luve's like the melodic 
That's sweetly play'd in tunc. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear^ 

'Till a' the seas gang dry. 

'Till a' the seas gang dry my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 

1 will love thee still, my dear. 

While the sands o* life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 

And fare thee weel, a while ! 
And I will come again, my luve. 

The' it were ten thousand mile. 



ROBERT BURNS. 253 



SONG. 



AE fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves him 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu* twinkle lights me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy : 
But to see her, was to love her ; 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted. 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest i 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 
Peep in heart wrung tears I '11 pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee, 



EVAN BANKS. 

^LOW spreads the gloom my soul desires, 
The sun from India's shore retires ; 
To Evan Banks, with temp'rate ray. 
Home of my youth, he leads the day. 
Oh banks to me forever dear ! 
Oh streams whose murmurs still I hear'! 
Z 



254 'fHE POETICAL WORKS Ol 

All, all my hopes of bliss reside 
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde. 

And she, in simple beauty drest, 
Whose image lives within my breast ; 
Who trembling heard my parting sigh, 
And long pursued me with her eye ; 
Does she, with heart unchanged as mine, 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline ? 
Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide, 
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ? 

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound ! 

Ye lavish woods that wave around, 

And o'er the stream your shadows throw, 

W^hich sweetly winds so ftir below ; 

What secret charm to mem'ry brings. 

All that on Evan's border springs ? 

Sweet banks! ye bloom by Mary's side : 

Blest stream I sh6 views thee haste to Clyde.- 

Can all the wealth of India's coast 
Atone for years in absence lost I 
Return, ye moments of delight. 
With richer treasures bless my sight 1 
Swift from this desert let me part, 
And fly to n eet a kindred heart! 
Nor more may ought .1 y steps divide 
From that dear stream which flows to Clyde. 



PATRIOTIC S0NG'^U?ifi?2ished 

HERE 'S a health to them that 's awa. 

Here 's a health to tl'Cm that 's awa ; 

And wha winna wish gude luck to our cause; 

May never gude luck be their fa' ! 

It 's gude to be merry and wise, 

It 's glide to be honest and true, 

It's gude to support Caledonia's cause, 

And bide by the butT and the blue. 



ilOBEKT BUU^'S. 2^5 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa ; 

Here 's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan, 

Altho' that his band be sma\ 

May liberty meet wi' success ! 

May prudence protect her frae evil ! 

May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, 

And wander their way to the devil ! 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 

Here 's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie, 

That lives at the lug o' the law ! 

Here 's freedom to him, that wad read, 

Here 's freedom to him, that wad write ! 

There 's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard, 

But they wham the truth wad indite. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 

Here *s Chieftain M*Leod, a chieftain worth gowd* 

Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw ! 

* * * * 



SONG. 

Now bank an* brae are claith'd in greeny 

An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly springs 
By Girvan's fairy haunted stream 

The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
To Cassillis* banks when e'ening fa's 

There wi' my Mary let me flee, 
Xhere catch her ilka glance of love 

The bonie blink o' Mary's e'e I 

The cheil wha boast o' warld*s walth, 
Is aften laird o' meikle care ; 

But Mary she is a' my ain, 

Ah, fortune canna gie me mair ! 



256 THE POETICAL WOUKS OF 

Then let me range by Cassiliis' banks, 
Wi' her the lassie dear to me, 

And catch her ilka glance o' love, 
The bonie blink o* Mary*s e*e 1 



THE BONIE LAD THAT ^S FAR AWA. 

O HOW can I be blythe and glad, 

Or how can I gang brisk and braw, 
When the bonie lad that I lo'e best 

Is o'er the hills and far awa ? 

Its no the frosty winter wind. 

Its no the driving drift and snaw ; 
But ay the tear comes in my e*e, 



My father pat me frae his door, 

My friends they hae disown*d me a'. 

But I hae ane will tak my part, 
The bonie lad that 's far awa. 

A pair o* gloves he gave to me, 

And silken snoods he gave me twa ; 

And I will wear them for his sake, 
The bonie lad that 's far awa. 

The weary winter soon will pass, 

And spring will deed the birken-shaw 

And my sweet babie will be born, 
And he *I1 come hame that 's far awa. 



SONG. 

Out over the Forth I look to the north, 

But what is the north and its Highlands to me ^ 

The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, 
The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea. 



ROBERT BURNS. 257 

But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; 

For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, 
The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 



LINES ON A PLOUGHMAN. 

As I was a wand'ring ae morning- in spring, 

I heard a young Ploughman sae sweetly to sing, 

And as he was singin* thir words he did say, 

There 's nae life like the Ploughman in the month o* 

sweet May — 
The lav*rock in the morning she 'II rise frae her nest, 
And mount to the air wi' the dew on her breast. 
And wi* the merry Ploughman she Ml whistle and sing, 
And at night she '11 return to her nest back again. 



WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T, 

# 
FIRST when Maggy was my care, 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air ; 
Now we *re married — spier nae mair — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. — 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bonie Meg was nature's child — 
—Wiser men than me 's beguil'd ; 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 

How we live, my Meg and me. 
How we love and how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see ; 

Whistle o'er the lave o't, — 
Wha I wish were Maggot's meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding sheet, 
I could write — but Meg wad see 't — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't— 
Z 2 



258 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



I LL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN 

I '11 ay ca* in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green, again ; 

I '11 ay ca' in by yon town, 

And see my bonie Jean again. 

Ther 's nane sail ken, there 's nane sail guess. 

What brings me back the gate again. 
But she my fairest faithfu' lass, 

And stownlins we sail meet again. 

She *J1 wander by the aiken tree, 

When trystin-timc draws near agaiii ; 

\nd when her lovely form I see, 
O haiih, she 's doubly dear again ! 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 

YOUNG Jockey was the blythest lad 

In a' our town or here awa ; 
Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud, 

Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha* ! 
He roos'd my e'en sue bonie blue. 

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma ; 
An' ay my heart came to my mou, 

When ne'ier a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the p^lain, 

Thro' wind and w^eet, thro' frost and snaw ;. 
And o'er the lee 1 leuk fu' fain 

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca*. 
An* ay the night comes round agam, 

When in his arms he taks lile a'; 
An' ay he vows he Ml be my ain 

As iang as he has breath to draw- 



ROBERT BURNS. 259 

MCPHERSON'S FAREWEL. 

FAREWEL ye dungeons dark and strong, 

The wretch's destinie ! 
M^Pherson's time will not be long, 

On yonder gallows tree. 

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 

Sae dauntingly g'aed he ; 
He play'd a spring- and danc'd it roun(.l, 

Below the g-allows tree. 

Oh, what is death but parting breath ? — 

On mony a bloody plain 
I 've dar'd his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again ! 

Sae rantingly, &c. 

Untie these bands from off my hands, 

And bring to me my sword ; 
And there's no a man in all Scotland, 

But I *11 brave him at a word. 

Sae rantingly. Sec. 

I *ve liv'd a life of sturt and strife ; 

I die by treacherie : j^ 

It burns my heart I must depart 

And not avenged be. 

Sae ranting-ly, &c. 

Now farewel light, thou sunshine bright, 

And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame distain his name, 

The wretch that dares not die ! 

Sae rantingly, &c. 



SONG. 

Powers celestial, whose Drotection 
Ever guards the virtuSus fair. 

While in distant climes I wander, 
Let my Mary be your care i 



260 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Let her form sae fair and faultless, 
Fair and faultless as your own ; 

Let my Mary's kindred spirit, 

Draw your choicest influence down. 

Make the gales you waft around her 

Soft and peaceful as her breast ; 
Breathing in the breeze that fans her, 

Sooth her bosom into rest : 
Guardian angels, O protect her, 

When in distant lands I roam : 
To realms unknown while fate exiles me, 

Make her bosom still my home. 



YOUNG PEGGY. 

Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass, 

Her blush is like the morning. 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass, 

With early gems adorning : 
Hfer eyes outshine the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower. 
And glitter o'er the crystal streams. 

And clieer each fresh'ning flower. 

Her lips more than the cherries bright, 

A richer die has grac'd them, 
They charm th* admiring gazer's sight 

Anti sweetly tempt to taste them: 
Her smile is as the ev'ning mild. 

When feather'd pairs are courting. 
And little lambkins wanton wild. 

In playful bands disporting. 

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 
Such sweetness would releat her, 

As blooming spring unbends the brow. 
Of surly, savage winter. 



ROBERT BURNS. 261 



J e traction's eye no aim can gain 
Her winning pov/'rs to lessen: 

And fietful envy grins in vain, 
The poisonM tooth to fasten. 

Ye pow'is of Honor, Love, and Truth 

From ev'ry ill defend her ; 
Inspire the highly favor'd youth 

Ttie destinies intend her : 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame 

Responsive in each bosom ; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom. 



AFTON WATER, 

FLOW gently sweet Afton among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, I '11 sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy muraiuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, 
Thou green crested lawping thy screaming forbear, 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet z\fton, thy neighbouring hills, 
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills ; 
Their daily I wander as noon rises high. 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green vallies below, 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, 
The sweet scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

Thy chrystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 

And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 

How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 

As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave 



262 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Flow gently, sweet Afton among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



THE LEA-RIG. 

WHEN o'er the hill the eastern star, 

Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo; 
And owsen frae the furrow'd field, 

Return sae dowf and weary O ; 
Down by the burn, where scented birlts 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie O. 

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, 

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O, 
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 

My ain kind dearie O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er so wild, 

And I were ne'er so wearie O, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie O. 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo j 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen, 

Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin grey, 

It maks my heart sae cheery, O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O. 



DOWN THE BURN DAVIE. 

AS down the burn they took their way^, 

And thro' the flowery dale ; 
His cheek to hers he aft did lay. 

And love was ay the tale. 



ROBERT BURNS. ^6: 



With " Mary, when, shall we return, 

Sic pleasures to renew ?" 
Quoth Mary, " Love, I like the burn, 

And ay shall follow you." 



WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST, &c. 

^/r— " The Mill mill O," 

WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn, 

And gentle peace returning, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless. 

And mony a widow mournini^ ; 
I left the lines and tented field. 

Where lang I'd been a lodger. 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 

My hand unstain'd wi' plunder ; 
And for fair Scotia, hame again, 

I cheery on did wander. 
1 thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy : 

At length I reach'd the bonny glen. 

Where early life I sported : 
I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn. 

Where Nancy aft I courted : 
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling I 
And turn'd me round to hide the flood 

That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass, 

Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 
O ! happy, happy may he be, 

That's dearest to thy bosom : 



264 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

My purse is light, I 've far to gang, 
And fain wad be thy lodger ; 

I've servM my king and countra lang. 
Take pity on a sodger. 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, 

And lovelier was than ever ; 
Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'ed, 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 

Ye freely shall partake it, 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 

Ye 're welcome for the sake o't. 

She gaz*d — she redden'd like a rose — 

Syne pale like ony lily ; 
She sank within my arms and cried, 

Art thou my ain dear Willie ? 
By him who made you sun and sky — 

By whom true love's regarded, 
I am the man ; and thus may stili 

True lovers be rewarded. 

The wars are o'er, and I *m come hume, 

And find thee still true-hearted ; 
Tho' poor in gear, we 're rich in love, 

And mair we*se ne'*er be parted. 
Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd, 

A mailin plenishM fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad 

Thou 'rt welcome to it deaiiy I 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main, 

The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glory is the sodger*s prize, 

The sodger's wealth is honor ; 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, 

Nor count him as a stranger. 
Remember he *s his country's stay 

In day and hour of danger. 



ROBERT BUR^S. 265 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN 



THOU lingering star, with lessening ray. 
That lov'st to greet the early morn, 

Again thou usher'st in the day 
My Mary from my soul was torn. 

O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Sae'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 

That sacred hour can I forget, 

Can I forget the hallowed grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love ! 

Eternity will not efface, 

Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, 

0*erhung with wild woods, thickening green ; 

The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 
Twin'd am'rous round the rapturM scene= 

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 
The birds sang love on ev'ry spray, 

'Till too, too soon the glowing west, 
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 

Still o*er these scenes my mem'ry wakes. 
And fondly broods with miser care ; 

Time but the impression deeper makes, 
As streams their channels deeper wear. 

My Mary dear departed shade! 

Where is thy blissful place of rest ? 
See*st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 
A A 



266 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

FAIR JENNY. 

" Tune — " Saw ye Mi^ Father F*'-' 

Where are the joys I have met in the mornhig*, 
That danc'cl to the lark's early song ? 

Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, 
At evening the wild woods among ? 

No more a' winding the course of yon river, 
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair ; 

No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 
But sorrow and sad-sighing care. 

Is it that summer's forsaken our vallies, 

And grim surly winter is near ? 
No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses, 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover, 
Yet lang, lang too well have I known, 

All that has caused this wreck in my bosoai. 
Is Jenny, fiiir Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, 

Nor hope dare a comfort bestow : 
Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguisli. 

Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. 



SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. 

WILLIE Wastle dwelt on Tweed, 
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie, 

Willie was a wabster gude, 

Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony bodie ; 

He had a wife was dour and din, 

Tinkler Madgie was her mithcr ; 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

1 wad na gle a button for her. 



ROBERT BURKS. Sf67 



;She has an e'e, she has hut ane, 
The dit has twa the very colour ; 

Five rusty teeth forbye a stump, 

A clapper tongue wad cleave a miller; 

A whiskin beard about her mou, 

Her nose and chin they threaten ither 

Sic a wife, &.c. 

She's bow-hough'd, she's hein shinn'd, 
Ae limpin leg a hand breed shorter ; 

Slie's twisted right, she's twisted left, 
To balance fltir in ilka quarter : 

She has a hump upon her breast, 

The twin o' that upon her shouthcr , 

Sic a wife, &c. 

Auld baudrans by the ingle sits, 
An' wi' her loof her face a washin ; 

But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, 
She digbts hor grunzle wi' a hushion 

Her walie nieves like midden-creels, 
Her face wad fyle the Logan- water ; 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

1 wad na gie a button for her. 



SOiSG — TurtE — Logaji Water o 

O, LOGAN, sweetly didst thou glide, 
That day I was my Willie's bride ; 
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run, 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
But now thy flowery banks appear 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 

Again the merry month o' May, 
Has made our hills and viallies gay ; 



^68 A'lIE POETICAL WORKS 01 

The birds rejoice in leafy bovvers, 

The bees hum roand the breathing flowers : # 

Biythe morning lifts his rosy eye, 

And evening's tears arc tears of joy ; 

My soul delightless, a' surveys, 

While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ; 
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile : 
But I, wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

O wae upon you, men of state, 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on your heads return I 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy, 
The widow's tears the orphan's cry ; 
But soon may peace bring happy days 
And Willie hame to Logan braes ! 



SONG. 

e'e was my ruin ; 
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 
Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me. 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ; 
But tho* fell fortune should fate us to sever, 
Queen she shall be in my bosom for ever. 

Mary, I 'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, 
And thou hast plighted me love o* the dearest; 
And thou 'rt the angel that never can alter, 
sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 



ROBERT BURNS. 269 

SHE<|gAYS SHE LO'ES ]ME BEST OF A\ 

SAE flaxen were her ringlets, 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'er-arching 

Twa laughmg een o' bonie bhie. 
Her smiling sae wyling, 

Wad make a wretch forget his woe^ 
What pleasure, what treasure, 

Unto these rosy lips to grow : 
Such was my Chloris' bonie face, 

When first her bonie face I saw, 
And ay my Chloris' dearest charm. 

She says she lo'es me best of a\ 

Like harmony her motion ; 

Her pretty ancle is a spy 
Betraying fair proportion, 

Wad make a saint forget the sky. 
Sae warming, sae charming, 

Her faultless form and graccfu' air ; 
Ilk feature — auld nature 

DeclarM that she could do nae mair : 
Her's are the willing chains o' love, 

By conquering beauty's sovereign law , 
And ay my Chloris* dearest charm, 

She says she lo*es me best of a'. 

Let others love the city, 

And gaudy shew at sunny noon ; 
Gie me the lonely valley, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon 
Fair beaming, and streaming, 

Her silver. light the boughs amang ; 
While falling, recalling, 

The amorous thrush concludes his sang ; 
There dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 

By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, 
And hear my vows o* truth and love. 

And say thou lo'es me best of a'. 
A A 2 



270 THE PGETICxVL WORKS 0h 

SONG — TUNE — Humours of Glen^ 

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, 

Wh^re biight-oeaming summers exalt the perfume, 
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o*' green breckan, 

Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom : 
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 

Where the blue bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen : 
For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 

A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

The' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny vallies, 

Andcauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; 
'fheir sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud pa*- 
lace, 

What are they ? The haunt o' the tyrant and slave j 
The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, 

The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 
Tie wanders as free as the winds of his mountains. 

Save Love's willing fetters, the chains o* his Jean- 



LORD GREGORY. 

O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, 

And loud the tempest's roar. 
A waefu"* wanderer seeks thy tower. 

Lord Gregory ope thy door. 

An exile frae her father's ha', 

And a' for loving thee ; 
At least some pity on me shaw, 

If love it may na be. 

Lord Gregory, mbid'st thou not the gfi'ove^ 

By bonie Irwine-side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin-love 

I lang, lang had denied. 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow. 

Thou wad for ay be mine : 
And my fond heart, itsel' sac triiej. 

It ne'er mistrusted thine. 



ROBERT BURNS. 271 



Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast : 
Thou dart of heav*n that flashest by, 

O wilt thou give me rest 1 

Ye mustering thunders from above 

Your willing victim sec ! 
But spare, and purdon my fause love, 

His wrangs to heaven and me 



MY NANIE S AWA. 

Now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays, 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes. 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; 
But to me its delightiess — my Nanie 's awa. 

'The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn^ 
And violets bathe in the weet o* the morn ; 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind me o' Nanie — and Nanie's awa. 

Thou lavVock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, 
x\nd thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa', 
Give over for pity — my Nanie's awa. 

Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and grey, 
And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay : 
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, 
A lane can delight me — now Nanie's awa. 



BALLAD — TUNE — The Lothian Lassie, 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, 
And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; 

I said there was naething I hated like men, 

The deuce gae wi' 'm, to believe me, believe me,- 
The deuce gae wi' 'm, to believe mc, 



272 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

He spak o' the darts in my bonie black e'en, 

And vowM for my love he was dying ; 
I said he might die when he liked, for Jean,. 

The Lord forgie me for lyingj, for lying, 

The Lord forgie me for lying ! 

A well-stocked mailen, himself for the laird, 
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers : 

I never loot on that I kend it, or car'd, 

But thought I might hae waur offers, wa^r offers, 
But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less, 

The deil tak his taste to go near her ! 
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 
- Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could bear 
her, 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. 

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, 

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, 
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there, 

I glowr*d as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock. 

I glowr*d as I'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink. 

Least neebors might say I was saucy ; 
My wooer he caperM as he'd been in drink, 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

1 spier'd for my cousin fu*^ couthy and sweet, 

Gin she had recover'd her hearin, 
And how her new shoon fit her auld shackrt feet. 

But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin, a swearin,. 

But, heavens I how he fell a swearin. 

He begged, for Gudesake ! I wad be his wife. 

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow : 
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life 

I think I .« aun wed him to-morrow, to-morraw? 

1 think I ma\in wed him to-morrow. 



UOBEllT BUli:yS. 

MEG O' THE MILL. 

O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten, 
An' ken ye what Meg o* the Mill has gotten ? 
She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller, 
And broken the heart o* the barley Miller. 

The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy : 
A heart like a lord and a hue like a lady : 
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knur! ; 
She's left the gude -fellow and taen the churl. 

The miller he heclit her, a heart leal and loving : 
The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving. 
A fine pacing-horse wi' a clear chained bridle, 
A whip by her side, and a bonie side-saddle. 

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ; 
And wae on the love that's fix'd on a mailin ! 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle. 
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl I 



SONG. 

MY Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 
The frost of liermit age might warm : 
My Peggy's worth my Peggy's mind, 
Might charm the first of human kind . 
I love my Peggy's angel air, 
Her face so truly, heavenly fair, 
Her native grace so void of art 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 

The lily's hue, tlie rose's dye, 
The kindling lustre of an eye ; 
Who but owns their magic sway, 
"Who but knows they all decay I 
The tender thrill the pitying tear, 
The generous purpose nobly dear, 
The gentle look, that rage disarms^ 
These are all immortal charms. 



274 THE POETICAL WORKS Ci" 

AULB ROB MORRIS. 



THERE 'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, 
He 's the king o' gude fellows and wale of auld iiiei 
He lias gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kin«. 
And ae bonie lassie, his darling and mine. 

She 's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
She 's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay ; 
As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, 
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. 

But Oh ! she 's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard 
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, 
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. 

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane : 
I wander my lane like a night troubled ghaist. 
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. 

had she' but been of a lower degree, 

1 then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me ! 
O, how past descriving had then been my bliss. 
As now my distraction no words can express I 



THE BANKS 0» BOON. 

YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ; 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae weary, fu' o' care ! 
Thou '11 break my heart thou warbling bird, 

That wantons thro* the flowering thorn ; 
Thou minds me o* departed joys^ 

Departed never to return. 



ROBERT BURNS. 27o 



Oft have 1 rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine 
And ilka bird sang o' its kive, 

And fondly sae did I o' mine. 
Wi* lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu* sweet upon its thorny tree ; 
And my faiise luver stole my rose, 

But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 



WAE IS MY HEART. 

NVAE is my heart, and the tear 's in my e'e ; 
Lang, lang joy 's been a stranger to me ; 
Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear, 
And tiie sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds iii my ear. 

Love thou hast pleasures : and deep hae I loved ; 
l^ove thou hast sorrows ; and sair hae I proved : 
But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, 
I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest. 

O if I were, where happy I hae been ; 
Down by yon stream and yon bonie castlle green : 
For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, 
Wha wad soon dry the tear from his Phillis's e'e. 



FAIR ELIZA. A GAELIC AIR. 

TURN again thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Rew on thy despairing lover ! 

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart ! 
Turn again thou fair Eliza ; 

If to love thy heart denies. 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise 1 



276 THB POETICAL WORKS OF 

Thee, dear maid, have I offended ? 

The offence is loving thee : 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 

Wha for thine wad gladly die ! 
While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe : 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Not the bee upon the blossom, 

In the pride o' sinny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy. 

All beneath the simmer moon i 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens on his e'e. 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture 

That thy presence gies to me. 



MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEATs 

MUSING on the roaring ocean, 

Which divides my love and me ; 
Wearying heaven in warm devotion. 

For his weel where'er he be. 

Hope and fear's alternate billow 

Yielding late to Nature's law, 
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow 

Talk of him that's far awa. 

Ye whom sorrow never wounded. 

Ye who never shed a tear, 
Care-untroubled, joy-surroun ded, 

Gaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night do thou befriend me ; 

Downy sleep, the curtain draw ; 
Spirits kind again attend me. 

Talk of him that's far awa I 



ROBERT BURN5. 2^/ 

SONG. Composed in August. 

NOW westlin winds, and slaughtering guns 

Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 

Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 

Delights the weary farmer ; 
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, 

To muse upon my charmer. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells ; 

The plover loves the mountains ; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; 

The soaring hern the fountains : 
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazel bash o'erhangs the thrusli, 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender ; 
Some social join, and leagues combine; 

Some solitary wander: 
Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion j 
The sportman's joy, the murdering cry, 

The fluttering, gory pinion ; 

But Peggy dear, the ev'ning clear, 

Thick flies the skimming swallow ; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view, 

All fading green and yellow : 
Come let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of nature ; 
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 

And ev'ry happy creature » 

We '11 gently walk, and sweetly talk, 

While the silent moon shines clearly ^ 
I '11 grasp thy waist, and fondly press 't, 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
Bb 



27 S i'lii^ POETICAL VVOKKS OF 

Not vernal shovv'rs to budding flow'rs, 

Nocautu.vn to the farmer, 
So dear can be as thou to me, 

My fair, my lovely charmer I 



SONG. 

JOCKY'S ta'en the parting kiss, 
O'er the mountains he is gane : 

And with him is a' my bliss, ' 

Nought but griefs with me remain. 

Spare my luve ye winds that blaw, 
Plashy sleets and beating rain I 

Spare my luve thou feathery snaw. 
Drifting o'er the frozen plain. 

W n the shades of evening creep 
0*er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 

Souiid and safely may he sleep, 
Sv/eetly blythe his waukening be I 

He will think on her he loves, 
Fondly he '11 repeat her name ; 

For where'er he distant roves, 
Jocky's heart is still at hame. 



SHE 'S FAIR AND FAUSE. 

SHE 'S fair and faiise that causes my smart, 

1 !o>f! her meikle and lang ; 
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart 

Aiie I may e'en gae hang. 
A ccof cam in wi' rowth o' p:ear, 
And 1 hiie tint my clearest dear, 
But women is but warld's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lassie gang. 



ROBERT BURNS. 279 



Whac'er ye be that women love, 

To this be never blind, 
Nae feiiie 'tis tho' tickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind : 
O woman lovely, woman fair ; 
An angel form's faun to thy share, 
'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair, 

I mean an angel mind. 



SONG — TUNE — Corn I^ig-s are bomi'ie. 

It was upon a lammas night, 

When corn rigs are bonnie. 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by wi' tentless heed, 

'Tin 'tween the late and early ; 
Wa' sma' persuasion she agreed, 

To see me thro' the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly ! 
I set her down wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley; 
I kent her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lov'd her most sincerely ; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 

Her heart was beating rarely : 
My blessing on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars so bright, 

That shone that hour so clearly ! 
She ay shall bless that happy night. 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 



280 THE POETICAL WORKS OP 

I hae been biythe wi' comrades dear ; 

I hae been merry drinkin ; 
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gaer ; 

I hae been happy thinking; 
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, 
That happy night was worth them a" 

Amang the ligs o' barley. 

CHOKUS. 

Corn rigs, an' barley rig-s, 

An' corn rig-s ure boiinie, 
I '11 ne'er foz'get that h;;ppy, nighl^ 

Amang the rigs \vi' Annie. 



SONG. 

THE gloomy night is gathering fast, 
Loud roars the -wild inconstant blast, 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
The hunter now has left the moor. 
The scattcr-d coveys meet secure, 
While here I wander prest with care.. 
Along the lonely banks of Jyr. 

The autumn mourns her rip'ring corn 
By early winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid, azure sky. 
She sees the scowling tempest fly ; 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
1 think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare. 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

'Tis not the surging billows roar, 
'Tis not that fatal deadly shore ; 
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear. 
The wretched have namore to fear; 



ROBERT BURNS. 281 

But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound I 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

Farewell old Collars hills and dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding vales I 
The scenes where wretched fancy roves. 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! Farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with those— 
The bursting tears my heart declare. 
Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr, 



O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' BILL. 

WERE I on Parnassus' hill 
Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
That I might catch poetic skill. 

To sing how dear I love thee. 
But Nith maun be my Muse's well. 
My muse maun be thy bonnie sell ; 
On Corsincon I '11 glowr and spell. 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 

1 coudna sing, I coudna say, 

How much, how dear, I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green. 
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae cleanj 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e'en — 

By heaven and earth I love thee ! 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame, 
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; 
And ay I muse and sing thy name, 
I only live to love thee. 

B b2 



228 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Tho' I were doomed to wander on, 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
'Till my last weaiy sand was run ; 
Till then — and then I love thee. 



THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

'i'HE Catrine woods were yellow seen. 

The flower's decay'd on Catrine Ice, 
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, 

But nature sickenM on the e*e. 
Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the while. 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang, 

Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, 

Again ye '11 flourish fresh and fair; 
Ye birdies dumb, in withering bowers, 

Again ye '11 charm the vocal air. 
But here alas ! for me nae mair, 

Shall birdie charm, or flowret smile ; 
Fareweel the bonny banks of Ayr, 

Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle i 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 

DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 

Then let the loons beware, sir. 
There 's wooden walls upon our seas, 

And volunteers on shore sir. 
The Nith shall run to Corsincon, 

And Criflel sink in Solway, 
E'er we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

Fall de rail, &c. 



ROBERT BURJ^S, og,^ 



O let us not like snarling tykes 

In wrangling be divided : 
'Till slap come in an unco loon 

And wi* a rung decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted. 

Fall de rail, &c. 

The kettle o' the kirk and state 

Perhaps a claut may fail in 't 
But deil a foreign tinkler loon 

Shall ever ca' a nail in't. 
Our fathers blude the kettle bought, 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ; 
By heaven the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it. 

Fall de rail, &c. 

\. 
The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 

And the wretch his true-born brother, 
Who would set the mob aboon the throne^ 

May they be hang'd together ! 
Who will not sing " God save the king," 

Shall hang as high *s the steeple ; 
But, while we sing *' God save the king," 

We '11 ne'er forget the people. 



SONG. 

By yon castle wa' at the close of the day, 
I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey ; 
And as he was singing, the tears fast down came — 
There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

The Church is in ruins, the state is in jars. 
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars : 
We dare na' weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame 
There '11 never be peace YiU Jamie comes hame. 



284 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

My seven braw sons for Jtimie drew sword, 
And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd 
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld da\ e — 
There '11 never be peace 'till Jamie comes hame. 

Now life is a burden that bows me down, 
Sin' I tint n^y bairns, and he tint his crown ; 
But 'till my last moments my words are the same, 
There 'II never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 



A MAN'S A MAN, FOR A' THAT. 

IS there for honest poverty, 

Wha hangs his head and a' that ? 
The cowurd si; ve we pass him by, 

And dare be poor for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

V ur toils obscvn'e, an' a' that, 
The rank is but the guinea stamp, 

The man 's the gowd, for a' that. 

What though on hamely fare we dine, 

Wear hodden grey, and a' that ? 
Gie fools tlieir silk, and knaves their wine, 

A man's a man, for a* that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinsel show, an' a' that; 
An honest man, though ne"'er sae poor, 

Is chief o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts and stares, and a' that, 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 

He's but a cuii for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His ril-bund, star, and a' that ; 
A man of independent mind. 

Can look, and laugh at a* that. 



ROBERT BURN'S. 285 



The king can mak' i\. belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that. 
An honest man *s aboon his might, 

Gude faith he manna fa' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His dignities and a* that ! 
The pith o' sense, and pride o* worthy 

Are grander far than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may, 

As come it shall for a' that ; 
That sense and worth o'er a* the earth, 

Shall bear the gree, and a* that; 
For a' that, and a' that. 

It's coming yet, for a* that ; 
Whan man to man, the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be, and a' that. 



CHARMING NANCY. 

Some sing of sweet Mally, some sing of fair Nelly, 

And some call sweet Susie the cause of their pain : 
Some love to be jolly, some love melancholy, 

And some love to sing of the Humours of Glen. 
But my only fancy, is my pretty Nancy, 

In venting my passion, I '11 strive to be plain, 
I'll ask no more treasure, I '11 seek no more pleasure, 

But thee, my dear Nancy, gin thou wert my ain. 

Her beauty delights me, her kindness invites me, 

Her pleasant behaviour is free from all stain. 
Therefore my sweet jewel, O do not prove cruel, 

Consent my dear Nancy, and come be my ain : 
Her carriage is comely, her language is homely. 

Her dress is quite decent when ta'en in the main ; 
She 's blooming in feature, she 's handsome in stature, 

My charming dear Nancy, O wert thou my ain. 



5286 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Like Phoebus adorning the fair ruddy morning, 

Her Inight eyes are sparkling, her brows are serene; 
Her yellow locks shining, in beauty combining, 

My charming, sweet Nancy, wilt thou be my ain ? 
The whole of her face is with maidenly graces 

Array'd like the gowans, that grow in yon glen, 
She 's well shap'd and slender, true hearted and tender, 

My charming, sweet Nancy, O wert thou my ain ! 

I '11 seek thro* the nation for some habitation, 

To shelter my jewel from cold, snow, and rain, 
With songs to my deary, I '11 keep her ay cheary, 

My charming, sweet Nancy, gin thou wert my ain, 
I'll work at rny calling to furnish thy dwelling, 

With ev'ry thing needful thy life to sustain, 
Thou shalt not sit single^ but by a clear ingle, 

I'll marrow thee, Nancy, when thou art my ain. 

I *il make true affection the constant direction 

Of loving my Nancy while life doth rei/jain : 
Tho' youth will be wasting, true love shall be lasting, 

My charming sweet Naney, gin thou wert my ain. 
But what if my Nancy should alter her fancy, 

To favor another be forward and fain, 
I will not compel her, but plainly I '11 tell her, 

Begone thou false Nancy, thou'se ne'er be my ain. 



SONG— TUNE— > JaneU 

HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife, 

Nor longer idly rave, sir; 
Tho' I am your wedded wife, 

Yet I am not your slave, sir. 

" One of two must still obey, 

" Nancy, Nancy, 
" Is it n.an or woman, say, 

" My spouse Nancy ?" 



ROBERT BURNS. 2^7 



If His still the lordly word, 

Service and obedience ; 
I '11 desert my sovereign lord, 

And so good b'ye allegiance. 

" Sad will I be, so bereft, 

" Nancy, Nancy, 
" Yet I '11 try to make a shift, 

" My spouse Nancy." 

My poor heart then break it must, 
My last hour I 'm near it ; 

When you lay me in the dust. 
Think, think how you will bear it. 



-ii 



I will hope and trust in heaven, 
" Nancy, Nancy ; 
Strength to bear it will be given, 
" My spouse Nancy." 



Well, sir, from the silent dead. 
Still I '11 try to daunt you ; 

Ever round your midnight bed 
Horrid sprites shall haunt you. 

<' I Ml wed another, like my dear, 

" Nancy, Nancy ; 
« Then all hell will fly for fear, 

" My spouse Nancy. 



HIGHLAND MARY — ruiJE^Caiharme Ogle. 

YE banks, and braes, and streams around, 

The castle o* Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers 

Your waters never drumlie! 
Their simmer first unfauld her robes, 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 



288 i'HB POETICAL WORKS OF 

How sweetly bloomM the gay, green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom ; 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp'd her to iny bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
Uor dear to me, as light and life, 

Was my sweet Highland Mar}' . 

Wi* mony a vow, and lock'd embrace. 

Our parting was fu' tender; 
And, pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder ; 
But Oh I fell death's untimely frost. 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
\nd closed for ay, the sparkling glance. 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mouldering now in silent dust. 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly I 
But still within my bosom's core, 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 



BONIE JEAN. 

THERE was a lass and she was fair, 
At kirk and market to be seen ; 

When a' the fairest maids were met, 
The fairest maid was bonie Jean. 

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark; 

And ay she sang sae merrilie ; 
The blythest bird upon the bush, 

Had ne'er a lighter heart than ihe. 



ROBERT BURNS. 289 



But hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little lintwhite's nest ; 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers, 
And love will break the soundest resto 

Young Robie was the brawest kd, 
The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 

And he had owsen, sheep and kye, 
And wanton naigies nine or ten. 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 
He dancM wi' Jeanie on the down ; 

And lang e're witless Jeanie wist, 

Her heart was tint, her peace was stowft. 

As in the bosom o* the stream, 

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ; 

So trembling, pure, was tender love 
Within the breust o' bonie Jean. 

And now she works her mammie's wark, 
And ay she sighs wi' care and pain ; 

Yet wist na what her ail might be, 
Or what wad mak her weel again. 

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light. 
And did na joy blink in her e'e, ' 

As Robie tauld a tale of love 
Ae e'enin on the lily lea ? 

The sun was sinking in the west. 
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ;; 

His cheek to hers he fondly prest. 
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love. 

O Jeanie fair, I loe thee dear ; 

O canst thou think to fancy me ! 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot; 

And learn to tent the farms wi* me. 

At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge. 
Or naething else to trouble thee ; 

But stray amang the heather-bells, 
And tent the waving corn wi' me. 
C c 



290 THE POETICAL WOllKS Of 

Now what could artless Jeanie do ? 

She had na will to say him ria : 
At length she blushM a sAveet consent, 

And love was ay between them twa. 



SCOTTISH SONG. 

O BONIE was yon rosy brier, 

That blooms sae far frae' haunt o' man : 
And bonie she, and ah, how dear ! 

It shaded frae the e'enin sun. 

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew 

How pure, amang the leaves sae green, 

But purer was the lover's vow 

They witness'd in their shade yestreen. 

All in its rude and prickly bower. 

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair I 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, 
Wi* Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 

And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn, 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



SONG— TUNE— " JDeil tak the rmfsT , 

MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion, 

Round the wealthy, titled bride : 
But when compar'd with real passion^ 

Poor is all that princely pride. 

"What are their showy treasures ? 

What are their noisy pleasures ? 



ROBERT BURNS. 291 

The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art : 

The polishM jewel's blaze, 

May draw the wond'ring gaze, 

And courtly grandeur bright, 

The fancy may delight, 
But never, never can come near the heart. 

But did you see my dearest Chloris, 

In simplicity's array ; 
Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, 

Shrinking from the gaze of day. 

O then, the heart alarming, 

And all resistless charming. 
In Love's delightful fetters sUg chains the willing soul i 

Ambition would disown 

The world's imperial crown, 

Even Av'rice would deny, 

His worshipp'd deity. 
And feel thro* every vein Love's rapture roll. 



ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY, 

How can my poor heart be glad, 
When absent from my sailor lad j 
How can I the thought forego, 
He 's on the seas to meet the foe : 
Let me wander, let me rove. 
Still my heart is with my love ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are with him that 's far away. 

CHORUS. 

On the seas and far away. 
On stormy seas and far away ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are ay with him that 's far away. 

When in summer's noon I faint, 
As weary flocks around me pant) 



292 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Hap'ly in this scorching sun 
My sailor's thundering at his gun : 
Bullets, spare my only joy ! 
Bullets spare my darling boy ! 
Fate do with me what you may, 
Spare butiiim that's far away I 
On the seas, &,c. 

At the starless midnight hour, 
When winter rules with boundless power ; 
As the storms the foi-ests tear^ 
And thunders rend the howliftg air, 
Listening to the doubling roar, 
Surging on the rocky shore, 
Ail I can — I weep and pri'.y. 
For his weal that 's far aw^y. 
On the seas, &c. 

Peace thy olive wand extend, 
And bid wild war his ravage end, 
Mun with. brother man to meet, 
And as a brother kindly greet : 
Then may heaven with prosp*rous gale&j 
Fill mv sailor's welcome sails, 
To my arms their charge convey, 
My dear lad that 's far away. 
On tbie seas, &c. 



SONG OF DEATH. 

FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye 
skies, 

Now gay with the broad setting sun ; 
Farewell, loves and friendships ; ye dear, tender ties, 

Our race of existence is run ! 

Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, 

Go, frighten the coward and slave : 
Go, teach them to tremole, fell tyrant! but know, 

Mo terrors uast thou to the brave I 



ROBERT BURNS. 293 

Thou strik'st the poor peasant — he sinks in the dark, 

Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name ; 
Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious marfe- ., 

He falls in the blaze of his fame I 

In the field of proud honor — our swords in our handsj 

Our king and our country to save — 
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands— 

O, who would not die with the brave 1 



JESSIE— TUNE— .*^ Bonie Dundee:' 

TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o* the Yarrow, 

And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, 
But by the sweet side o' the Nith*s winding river, 

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair : 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over -, 

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain, 
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, 

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain, 

O fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning. 

And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 
But in the fair presence o* lovely young Jessie, 

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring ; 

EnthronM in her een he delivers his law: 
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger. 

Her modest demeanor's the jewel of a*. 



SONG. 

B t Allan-stream I chanc'^d to rove, 
While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi, 

The winds were whispering thro' the groyc; 
The yellow corn was waving ready : 
C c2 



294 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

I listcnM to a lover's sang, 

And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony ; 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang — 

O dearly do I lo'e thee Annie. 

O happy be the woodbine bower, 

Nae nightly bogle mak it eerie ; 
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 
Her he:»d upon my throbbing breast, 

She, sinking said, '^ I'm thine forever!" 
While mony a kiss the seal imprest, 

The sacred vow we ne'er should sever. 

The haunt o-' spring 's, the primrose brae, 

The simmer joys the flocks to follow; 
How cheery thro' her shortening day, 

Is autumn in her weeds o' yellow ; 
But can they melt the glowing heart, 

Or cljain the soul in speechless pleasure, 
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart. 

Like meeting her,: our bosom's treasure. 



THE tfASS 0» BALLOCHMYLE. 

-^TVVAS even — the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade the pearls hang ; 
The Zephyr wantoned round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In every glen the iaavis sang. 

All nature listening seemed the while., 
Except when green-wood echoes rang 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward strayed, 
My heart rejoiced in nature's joy. 

When musing in a lonely glade, 
A maiden fair I chanced to spy j 



ROBERT BURNS. 295 



Her look was like the morning's eye, 
Her air like nature's vernal smile, 

Perfection whispered passing by, 
Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Fair is the morn in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in Autumn mild ; 
When roving thro' the garden gay, 

Or wandering in the lonely wild ; 
But woman, nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compiles 
Even there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 

O had she been a country maid, 

And I the happy country swain, 
'Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed 

That ever rose on Scotland's plain! 
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonny lass o* Ballochmyle- 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep , 

Where fame and honours lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep. 

Or downward sink the Indian mine j 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks or till the soil, 
And every day have joys divine. 

With the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 



GASTLE GOUDON. 

Streams that glide in orient plains, 
Never bound by winter's chains ; 
Glowing here on golden sands, . 
There commix'd with foulest stains 
From tyranny's empurpled bands : 



2©6 THE POETICAL WORKS OP 

These, their richly gleaming waves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves ; 
Give me the stream that sweetly laves 
The banks by Castle Gordon. 

Spicy forests, ever gay, 
Shading from the burning ray 
Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
On the ruthless native's way. 
Bent on slaughter, blood and spoil : 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave the tyrant and the slave. 
Give me the groves that lofty brave 
The storms by Castle Gordon. 

Wildly here without controul. 
Nature reigns and rules the whole; 
In that sober pensive mood. 
Dearest to the feeling soul. 
She plants the forest, pours the flood ; 
Life's poor day I '11 musing rave. 
And find at night a sheltering cave, 
Where waters flow and wild woods wave, 
By bonnie Castle Gordon. 



SONG— TUNE- — The king of France he rode a raCe, 

Amang the trees where humming bees 

At buds and flowers were hinging, O 
Auld Caledon drew out her drone, 

And to her pipe was singing ; O 
'Twas Pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels^ 

She dirlM them aff, fu' clearly, O 
When there cam a yell a' foreign squeels, 

That dang her tapsalteerie, O — 

Their capon craws and queer ha ha's, 

They made our lugs grow eerie, O 
The hungry bike did scrape and pike 

'Till we were wae and weary O ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 297 



But a royal gliaist wha ance was casM 
A prisoner aughteen year awa, 

He fir'd a fiddler in the North 
That dang them tapsalteerie, O. 



SONG — TUNE — Braes 6* Balquhidder^ 

1 kiss thee yet, yet. 

An' I '11 kiss thee o'er again, 

An' I '11 kiss thee yet, yet. 
My bonie Peggy Alison ! 

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, 

I ever mair defy thenn, O ; 
Young kings upon their hansel throne 

Are no sae blest as 1 am, O I 

I'll kiss thee, &c. 

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 

I clasp my countless treasure, O ; 
I seek nae mair o* Heaven to share, 

Than sic a moment's pleasure, O \ 

I '11 kiss thee, 8c6. 

And by thy e'en sue bonie blue, 
I swear I 'm thine for ever, O ! — 

And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
And break it shall I never, O ! 

I '11 kiss thee, &c. 



SONG — TUNE — The Weaver and his Shuttle, 0. 

My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick border O, 

And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O 

He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a fau- 

thing, O 
For witjiout an honest manly heart, no man was worth 

regarding, O. 



298 THB POETICAL WORKS OF 

Then out into the world my course I did determine, Q 

Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was 
charming, O 

My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my educa- 
tion: O 

Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situation, O. 

In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's favor ; 
O 

Some cause unseen, still stept between, to frustrate each 
endeavour; O 

Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd ; sometimes by 
friends forsaken ; O 

And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mis- 
taken, O. 

Then sore harassed, and tir'd at last, with fortune's vain 

delusion ; O 
I di'opt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this ■ 

conclusion; O 
The past was bad, and the future hid ; its good or ill un- 

tryed; O 
But the present hour was in my pow*r, and so I would 

enjoy it, O. 

Nor help, nor hope, nor view had I ; nor person to he- 
friend me ; O 

So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labor to sustain 
me, O 

To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me 
early; O 

For one, he said, to labor bred, was a match for fortune 
fairly, O. 

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm 

doom'd to wandfer, O 
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber : O 
No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me 

pain or sorrow ; O 
I live to day, as well 's I may, regardless of to-morroV[, 

O. 



IIOBERT BURNS. 299 

But cheerful still, I am as well, as a monarch m a pa- 
lace, O 

Tho' fortune* frown still haunts me down, with all her 
wonted malice ; O 

I make indeed, my daily bread, but ne'er can make it 
farther; O 

But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard 
her, O. 

AVhen sometimes by my labor I earn a little money, O 
Some unforseen misfortune comes generally upon me ; O 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur*d 

folly; O 
But come what will, I 've sworn it still, I '11 ne'er be me- 
lancholy, O. 

All you wha follow wealth and power with unremitting 

ardor, O 
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view 

the farther ; O 
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore 

you, O 
\A cheerful honest hearted clown I will prefer before 

you, O. 



SONG. 

Q WHISTLE and I'll come to you, my lad, 
O whistle, and I Ml come to you my lad : 
Tho' father and mither and a* should gae mad, 
O whistle and I *11 come to you my lad. 
O whistle, &c. 

But warily tent when ye come to. court me, 
And come nae unless the back-yett be a jee ;* 
Syne up the back-style,t and let. nae body see, 
And come as ye were na comin to me. 
O whistle, &c. 

* Yettf a gate — a Jee, a little open. E. 

t St^le, steps to go over a fence where a footpath crosses. E 



300 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

At kirk, or at market whene'er ye meet me, 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd nae a flie ; 
But steal me a blink o' your bonie black €*c, 
Yet look as ye were na lookin at me. 

O whistle, &c. 

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me. 
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee 
But court nae anither, tho' jokin ye be. 
For fear that she whyle your fancy frae me. 
O whistle, &,c. 



SONG — TUNE — Detl tak the xvars, 

SLEEP'ST thou, or wak'st thou fairest creature ; 

Rosy morn now lifts his eye, 
Numbering ilka bud which nature 

Waters wi' the tears o* joy ; 

Now through the leafy woods. 

And by the reeking floods ; 
Wild nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray ; 

The lintwhite in his bower 

Chants o'er the breathing flower : 

The lav'rock to the sky 

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy. 
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. 

Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning, 

Banishes ilk darksome shade. 
Nature gladdening and adorning ; 

Such to me my lovely maid. 

When absent frae my fair, 

The murky shades o' care 
With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky ; 

But when, in beauty's light. 

She meets my ravish'd sischt, 
When through my very heart 

Her beaming glories dart ; 
'Tis then I wake to life, to light and joy. 



ROBERT BURNS. S^i 

OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH ! 

OH open the door, some pity to shew, 

Oh, open the door to me Oh, 
Tho' thou hast been false, I Ml ever prove true, 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh. 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 

But caulder thy love for me. Oh : 
The frost that freezes the life at my heart, 

Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh. 

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, 

And time is setting with me, Oh : 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 

I '11 ne'er trouble them, nor thee. Oh. 

She has open*d the door, she has open'd it wide, 
She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh : 

My true love she cried, and sunk down by his side, 
Never to rise again. Oh. 



SONG — AIR — Lumps o' Puddings 

CONTENTED wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, 
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
I gie them a skelp, as they 're creepin alang, 
Wi' a cog o' gude swats, and an auld Scottish sang. 

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught : 
My mirth and good humour are coin in my pouch, 
And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare 
touch. 

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a' : 
When at the blythe end of our journey at last, 
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past, 

D D 



302 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way; 
Be't to me, be 't frae me, e'en let the jade gae : 
Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure or pain ; 
My warst word is — " Welcome and welcome again !" 



THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME. 

WHEN January winds were blawing cauld, 

As to the north I bent my way. 
The darksome night did me enfauld, 

I kend na where lo lodge till day : 
By my good luck a lass I met, 

Just in the middle of my care, 
And kindly she did me invite. 

To walk into a chamber fair. 

I bow'd fu' low to this sam' maid. 

And thank'd her for hei'' courtesie ; 
I bow'd fu' low to this fair maid, 

And bade her make a bed for me : 
She made the bed both L-.rge and wide, 

Wi' her twa white hands she spread it down ; 
She put the cup to her rosy lip, 

And drank, " Young man, now sleep ye sound." 

She snatch'd the candle in her han', 

And frae my chamber went wi' speed ; 
But I call'd her quickly back again, 

To lay some mair beneath my head. 
A cod she laid beneath my head. 

And served me with due respect ; 
Syre to salute her wi' a kiss, 

I flang my arms about her neck. 

" Haud aff your ban's, young man," said she, 

" And dinna sae uncivil be ; 
«> Gif ye hae ony iuve for me, 

" O wrang na my virginity 1" 



liOiiERT BURNS. 303 



iTer hail' was like the links o' gowd, 
Her teeth were like the ivory. 

Her cheeks like lilies dipt ia wine, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again, 

And ay she wist na what to say ; 
I laid her 'tween me and the wa% 

The lassie thought na lang till day. 
Her bosom was the driven snaw, 

Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see, 
Her limbs the polish'd marble stane. 

The lass that made the bed to me. 

Upon the morrow when we raise, 

I thank'd her for her courtesie ; 
But ay she sigh'd and cry'd, " Alas ! 

" Alas i young man, ye 've ruin'd m-e." 
I look'd her in her bonny face. 

While the tear stood twinklin' in her e'e ; 
And said, Sweet lassie dinna cry, 

Ye ay shall mak the bed to me. 

She took her mither's Holland sheets, 
. And made them a' in sarks to me j 
Blythe and merry may she be, 

The lass that made the bed to me ; 
The braw lass made the bed to me, 

The bonnie lass made the bed to me, 
I '11 ne'er forsake till the day I die. 

The lass that made the bed to me. 



FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. 

MY heart is sair I dare na tell. 

My heart is Sc\ir for somebody; 
I could wake a winter night 

For the sake of somebody. 



304 1 HE POETICAL WORKS ®1 

Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 

Oh-hey ! for somebody I 
I could range the world around, 
I'or the sake o' somebody. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, 

O, sweetly smile on somebody I 
Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my somebodvj 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey 1 for somebody I 
I wad do — what wad I not, 
For the sake o' somebody ! 



PKILLIS THE 'FAlR^Tu^iL'^jR.sMn Adau 

WHILE larks with little wing, 

Fann'd the pure air, 
Tasting the breathing spring, 

Forth I did fare : 
Gay the sun's golden eye, ^ 
Peep o'er the mountains high j 
Such thy morn ! did I cry, 

Phil lis the fair. 

In each bird's careless sottg, 

Glad, I did share ; 
While yon wild flowers among, 

Chance led me there ; 
Sweet to the opening day, 
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray ; 
Such thy bloom, did I say, 

Phillis the fair. 

Down in a shady walk. 

Doves cooing were, 
I marked the cruel hawk 

Caught in a snare : 



ROBERT BURNS, 305 



So kind may fortune be, * 
Such make his destiny I 
He who would injure thee? 
Phillis the fair. 



BEWARE O' BONIE ANN. 

YE gallants bright I rede ye right, 

Beware o' bonie Ann ; 
Her comely face sue fu' o* grace, 

Your heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 

Her skin is like the swan ; 
Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist, 

That sweetly she might span. 

Youth, grace, and love, attendant move, 

And pleasure leads the van ; 
In a* their charms, and conquering arms, 

They wait on bonie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the hands, 

But love enslaves the man ; 
Ye gallants braw, I rede you a*. 

Beware o' Bonie Ann. 



THE GARDENER WL HIS PAIDLE. 

WHEN rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers ; 
Then busy, busy are his hours. 
The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 

The chrystal waters gently fa' ; 
The merry birds are lovers a' ; 
The scented breezes round him blaw, 
The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 
Dd 2 



305 THE POETICAL WORKS 01 

When purple morning starts the hare 
To steal upon her early fare ; 
Then thro* the dews he maun repair, 
The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 

When day expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws of nature's rest ; 
He flies to her arms he lo'es best, 
The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 



MY HEART 'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a chasing tho deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth ; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove. 
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. ^Jjj 

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow ; 
Farewell to the straths and green vallies below : 
Farewell to the forests and wild hanging woods ; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
My heart *s in the Highlands, n.y heart is not here, 
My heart's in the Highlands, a chasing the deer: 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe. 
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 



SONG — TUNE — My Nannie 0. 



Behind yon hills where Liigar flows, 
'Mang moors and mosses many, Oj 

The wint'ry sun the day has clos'd, 
And I '11 arwa to Nannie, O. 



ROBERT BURNS. 307 



The westfm wind blaws lowd an* shrill ; 

The night's baith mirk and rainy, O, 
But I '11 get my pkid an* out I '11 steal, 

An* owre the hills to Nannie, O. 

My Nannie 's charming, sweet, an' youngs 
Nac artfu' wiles to win ye, O : 

May ill befa* the flattering tongue 
That wad beguile my Nannie, O- 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bonnie, O ; 

The opening gowin, wet wi' dew, 
Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree. 

An' few there be that ken me, O ; 

But what care I how few they be, 
I 'am welcome ay to Nannie, O. 

My riches a's my penny-fee. 
An* I T.iaun guide it cannie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thjMghts are a' my Nannie, O. 



Our aulo^sjuidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O ; 

But I 'm as blythe that bauds his pleugh, 
An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 

Come weel come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heav'n will sen* me, O ; 

Nae ither cure in life have I, 
But live, an' love my Nannie, O. 



Altho' my bed were in yon muir, 
Amang the heather, in my pkddie, 

Yet happy, happy would I be 

Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peg^gv, — 



308 THE POETICAL WORKS OP 

When o*er the hill beat surly storms, 
And winter nights were dark and rainy ; 

I 'd seek some dell and in my arms 

I M shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy. — 

Were I a baron proud and high, 

And horse and servants waiting ready, 

Then a' *twad gie o* joy to me, 

The sharin 't with Montgomerie's Peggy.. 



BONNIE BELL. 

THE smiling spring comes in rejoicing, 

And surly winter grimly flies ! 
Now chrystal clear are the falling waters. 

And bonnie blue are the sunny skies ; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning. 

The ev''ning gilds the ocean's swell ; 
All creatures joy in the sun's returning, 

And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. 

The flow*ry spring leads sunny summer. 

And yellow autumn presses near. 
Then in his turn comes gloomy winter, 

'Till smiling spring again appear. 
Thus season dancing, life advancing, 

^Old time and nature their changes tell, 
;^ut never ranging, still unchanging 
1 adore my bonnie Bell. 



HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER. 

Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty*s alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms : 
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit. farms' 



ROBERT BURNS. 3Q9 



CHORUS. 



Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher ; then hey for a lass \vi' a tocher. 
Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher-; the nice yellow guineas for me. 

Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows, 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o* the bonie green knowes, 
Ilk spring they *re new deckit wi* bonie white yowes. 

Then hey, 5cc. 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest; 
But the sweet, yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest^ 
The langer ye hae them— the mair they 're carest. 

Then hey, &c. 



THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 

And ay the saut tear blins her e'e : 
Drumofsie moor, Drumofsie day, 

A waefu' day it was to me ; 
For there I lost my father, dear, 

My father dear and brethren three, 

Their winding sheet the bluidy clay, 

Their graves are growing green to see i. 
And by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever blest a woman^s e'e ! 
Now wae to thee thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For mony a heart thou hast made sair, 

That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee. 



310 THE POETICAL WORKS. OP 



THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 

I GAED a waefu' gate, yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I '11 dearly rue ; 
I gat my death frae twa sweet, e'en, 

Twa lovely e'en o' bonnie blue. 

^Twas not her golden rmglets bright j 
Her lips like roses, M'at wi' dew, 

Her heaving bosom, lily-white — 
It was her e'en sae bonnie blue. 

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd. 
She charm 'd my soul I wist na how ; 

And ay the stound, the deadly wound, 
Cam frae her e'en sae bonnie blue. 

But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 

She '11 aiblins listen to my vow ; 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead 

To her twa e'en sae bonnie blue. 



STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT. 

THICKEST night o'erhang my dwelling! 

Howling tempests o'er me rave I 
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling. 

Still surround my wintry cave ! 

Chrystal streamlets gently flowing, 

Busy haunts of base mankind, 
Western breezes softly blowing, 

Suit not my distracted mind. 

In the cause of right engaged. 

Wrongs injurious to redress, 
Honor's war we strongly waged, 

But the heavens deny'd succeiis. 



ROBERT BURNS. cAl 



Jtuin's wheel has driven o'er us, 

Not a hope that dare attend, 
The wide world is all before us**- 



But a world without a friend 



BANKS OF CREE. 

HERE is the glen, and here the bower, 
All underneath the birchen shade ; 

The village bell hus told the hour, 
O what can stay my lovely maid. 

'Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 

*Tis but the balmy breathing gale, 
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 

It is Maria's voice I hear I 

So calls the woodlark in the grove. 
His little, faithful mate to cheer. 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 

And art thou come ! and art thou true ! 

O welcome dear to love and me ! 
And let us all our vows renew, 

Along the flow'ry banks of Cree, 



THE BANKS OF NITII. 

THE Thames flows proudly to the sea. 

Where royal cities stately stand ; 
But sweeter flows the Nith to me, ^ 

Where Cummins ance had high command 
When shall I see that honor'd land, 

That winding stream I love so dear ! 
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand 

For ever, ever keep me here. 



312 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

How lovely IMith, thy fruitful vales, 

Where spreading hawthorns gayly bloom; 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales 

Where lambkins wanton thro* the broom I 
Tho' wandering, now must be my doom, 

Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, 
May there my latest hours consume, 

Amang the friends of early days ! 



THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS. 

THE day returns, my bosom burns, 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd. 

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide. 

And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, 

Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give 1 
While joys above my mind can move. 

For thee, and thee alone I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part ; 
The iron hand that breaks our band. 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 



RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING 

RAVING winds aro\ind her blowing, 

Yellovv leaves the woodlands strowing, 

By a river hocirsely roaring, 

Isabella stray'd deploring. 

*' Farewell, hours that late did measure 

" Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; 



HGBERT BURIiS. Gl'S 



« Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, 
« Cheerless night that knows no morrow 

« 0*er the past too fondly wandering, 
" On the hopeless future pondering ; 
" Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
« Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
« Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
" Load to misery most distressing, 
" O how gladly I *d resign thee, 
« And to dark oblivion join thee 1'* 



CRAGIE-BURN WOOD. 

SWEET fa's the eve on Cragie-bum, 
And blythe awakes the morrow. 

But a* the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
I hear the wild birds singing ; 

But what a weary wight can please. 
And care his bosom wringing. 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 

Yet dare na for your anger ; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it langer. 

If thou refuse to pity me, 

If thou shalt love anither. 
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, 

Around my grave they '11 wither. 



SOJSG. 

It was the charming month of May, 
When all the flow'rs were fresh and gay, 
One morning, by the break of day, 
The youthful, charming Chloe ; 
E E 



314 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

From peaceful sluinber she arose, 
Girt on her mantle and her hose, 
And o'er the flowery mead she goes, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

CHORUS. 

Lovely was she by the dawn. 

Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe; 

Tripping o'er ihe pearly lawn, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

The featherM people, you might see 
Perch'd all around on every tree, 
In notes of sweetest melody 
They hail the charming Chloe; 

'Till, painting gay the eastern skies, 
The glorious sun began to rise, 
Out-iiviiU'd by the radiant eyes 
Of youthful, charming Chloe. 

Lovely was she, &c. 



SONG — AIR — Cauld Kalu 

COME let me take thee to my breast, 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ; 
And 1 shall spurn as vilest dust 

The warld's wealth and grandeur : 
And do 1. hear my Jeanie own. 

That equal transports move her? 
I ask for dearest life alone 

That I may live to love her. 

Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
I cksp my countless treasure ; 

I *ll seek nae mair o' heaven to sharcj^ 
Than sic a moment's pleasure ; 



IIOBEIIT BUKNS. 315 



And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 
I swear I 'm thine for ever ! 

And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
And break it shall I never. 



ADDRESS T^O THE WOOD-LARK. 

O STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark stay, 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray, 
A hapless lover courts thy lay, 
Thy soothing fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part, 
That I may catch thy melting art; 
For surely that wad touch her heart, 
VVha kills me wi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy little mate unkind, 
Ami lieard thee as the careless wind ? 
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd^ 
Sic notes o' woe could wauken. 

Thou tells o' never-ending care ; 
O' speechless grief, and dark despair : 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair I 
Or my poor hea,rt is broken I 



SONG. 

FAREWELL thou stream that windin g flows 

Around Maria's dwelling ! 
Ah cruel mem*ry 1 spare the throes 

Within my bosom swelling : 
CondemnM to drag a hopeless chain 

And still in secret, languish. 
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein. 

Yet dare not speak my anguish,.- 



316 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Th'e wretch of love, unseen, unknown, 

I fain my crime would cover : 
The bursting sigh, th* unweeting groan, 

Betray the liopeless lover. 
I know my doom must be despair, 

Thou wilt, nor canst relieve me ; 
But oh, Maria hear one prayer, 

For pity's sake forgive me. 

The music of thy tongue I heard, * 

Nor wist Avhile it enslaved me ; 
I saw thine eyes yet nothing fear*d, 

*Till fears no more had sav'd me. 
The unwary sailor thus aghast. 

The wheeling torrent viewing ; 
'Mid circling horrors yields at last 

To overwhelming ruin. 



MARY MORISON—TUNE— 5^V^ ye yel, 

MARY, at thy window be. 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ; 
Those smiles and glances let me see. 

That make the miser's treasure poor-:- 
How blythely wad I bide the stour, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 
Could I the rich reward secure. 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen when to the trembling string. 
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw. 
And you the toast of a' the town, 

1 sigh'd and said amang them a*, 
" Ye are na Mary Morison." 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ! 
Or canst thou break that heart of his.. 

Whase only faiu is loving thee ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 3iT 



If love for love thou wilt na gie, 
At least be pity to me shown ; 

A thought ungentle canna be 
The thought o' Mary Morison, 



SONG — TUNE — I had a horse, 

O Poortith cauld, and restless love, 

Ye wreck my peace between ye ! 
Yet poortith a* I ceuld forgive, 

An' 'twere na' for my Jeanie. 
O why should fate sic pleasure have. 

Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love, 

Depend on Fortune's shining ? 

This warld's wealth when I think on. 

It's pride, and a' the lave o't ; 
Fie, fie on silly coward man. 

That he should be the slave o't ; 

O why, See. 

Her een sae bonie blue betray, 
How she repays my passion ; 

But prudence is her o'erword ay- 
She talks of rank and fashiop. 
O why, &,c. 

O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him? 
O wha can prudence think upon. 

An sae in love as I am ? 

t) why, &c. 

How blest the humble cotter's fate I 

He wooes his simple dearie; 
The silly bogles wealth an state, 
Can never make them eerie. 
O why, &c. 

Ee5 



3 1 8 i ilE POETICAL WORKS OF 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

O MEIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty, 

And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; 
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie, 

My tocher*s the jewel has charms for him. 
It's a' for the apple he '11 nourish the tree ; 

It's a' for the hiney he '11 cherish the bee, 
My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, 

He can na hae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' luve 's an airlc-penny. 

My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy; 
But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin, 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
Ye 're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, 

Ye 're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 
Ye '11 slip fre me like a knotless thread, 

And ye *11 crack your credit Avi' mae nor me. 



SONG — TUNE — Jockey's grey breeks, 

AO-AIN rejoicing nature sees 

Her robe assume its vernal hues, 
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze 

All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 

CHORUS. 

And maun I stiil on Afenie doat, 

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e ! 

For it' s jet, jet black, an'' it 's like a hawk. 
An' it winna let a body be ! 

X;i vain to me the cowslips blaw. 

In vain to me the vi'lets spring; 
In vain to me, in glen or shaw. 

The mavis and the lintwhitc sing. 

And maun I still, ?^r 



ROBERT BUHNS, 3I9 

The merry ploiighboy cheers his team, 

Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks, 
But life to me 's a weary dream, 

A dream of ane that never wauks. 

And maun I still, he 

The wanton coot the water skims, 

Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 
The stately swan majestic swims, 

And every thing is blest but I. 

And maun I still, kc. 

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, 

And ovvre the moorlands whistles shill, 
Wi* wild, unequal, wand'ring step 

I meet him on the dewy hill. 

And maun I still, &c. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 

Blythe waukens by the daisy's side. 
And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 

A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 

And maun I still, &c. 

Come Winter, with thine angry howl. 

And raging bend the naked tree ; 
Thy gloom will soothe my chearless soul, 

When nature all is sad like me ! 

And maun I still, &c. 



SONG. 

HAD I a cave on some wild distant shore, 
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar 5 
There would I weep my woes, 
There seek my lost repose, 
'Till grief my eyes should close, 
Ne'er to wake more. 



320 THE POETICAL WORKS OP 

Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare, 
All thy fond plighted vows — fleeting as air I 
To thy new lover hie, 
Laugh o'er thy perjury, 
Then in thy bosom try. 
What peace is there ! 



FRAGMENT. 

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown her neck and bosom hing ; 

How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
And round that neck entwine her ! 

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, 
O, what a feast, her bonnie mou ! 

Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
A crimson still diviner. 



SONG — TUNE — Banks of Baiina, 

YESTREEN I had a pint o* wine, 

A place where body saw na* ; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 

The gowden locks of Anna. 
The hungry Jew in wilderness 

Rejoicing o'er his manna, 
Was naething to my hinny bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs tak the east and wesfj 

Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
Crie me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 



ROBERT BURNS. 22X 



There I'll despise imperial charms, 

An Empress or Sultana, 
While dying raptures in her arms 

I give and take with Anna 1 

Awa thou flaunting god o* day !^ 

Awa thou pale Diana ! 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray 

When I *m to meet my Anna. 
Come, in thy raven plumage, night, 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a* ; 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi* my Anna I 



THE BO]>nVIE WEE THING. 

BONNIE wee thing, cannie wee thing, 
Lovely wee thing was thou mine ; 

I wad wear thee in my bosom, 
Lest my jewel I should tine. 

Wishfully I look and languish 

In that bonnie face of thine ; 
And my heart it siounds wi' anguish^ 

Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit, and grace, and love and beauty, 

In ae constellation shine ; 
To adore thee is my duty. 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 

Bonnie wee, &c. 



BALLAD. 

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains, 
Where late wi* careless thought I rang'd-, 

Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe, 
To thee I bring a heart unchang'd— 



322 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

I love thee Nith, thy banks and braes, 
Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear; 

For there he rov'd that brake my heart, 
Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear I 



GALL A WATER. 

THERE 'S braw braw lads, on Yarrow braes, 
That wander thro' the blooming heather ; 

Bui Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws, 
Can match the lads o' Galla water. 

But there is ane, a secret ane, 
Aboon them a' I loe him better ; 

And I '11 be his, and he *li be mine, 
The bonie lad o' Galla water. 

Altho* his daddie was nae laird, 
And tho' I hae na meikle tocher ; 

Yet rich in kindest, truest love, 

We '11 tent our flocks by Galla watev. 



It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, 
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure 

The bands and bliss o° mutual love, 
O that's the chiefest warld's treasure ! 



SONG. 

WHAT can a young la^ie, what shall a young lassie, 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? 

Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' 1 

Bad luck on the pennie, &c. 

He 's always compleenin frae morain to e'enin, 
He hosts and he liirples the weary day lang ; 

He 's doylt and he 's dozin, his blude it is frozen, 
O, dreaiy 's the night wi' a crazy auld man I 



ROBERT BURNS. 323 



He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 
I never can please him, do a' that I can ; 

' the young fellows, 
an auld man ! 



He's peevish, and jealous of a' 
O, dool on the day I met wi* 



My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, 
I '11 do my endeavour to follow her plan ; 

I '11 cross him, and wrack him tmtil I heart-break him, 
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 



O MAY THY MORN. 

O MAY, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet. 
As the mirk night o' December; 

For sparkling was the rosy wine, 
And private was the chamber : 

And dear was she I dare na name, 
But 1 will ay remember. 

And dear, &c. 

An here *s to them, that, like oursel, 

Can push about the jorum ; 
And here 's to them that wish us weel. 

May a' that 's gude watch o'er them ; 
And here 's to them, we dare na tell, 

The dearest o' the quorum. 

And here 's to, &c. 



WILLIE BREW D A PECK O' MALT. 

O Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 

And Rob and Allan cam to see ; 
Three blyiher hearts, that lee-lang night, 

Ye wad na find in Christendie. 

We are na fou, we 're nae that fou 

But just a diappie in our e'e ; 
The cock m..}' craw, the day may daw. 

And ay we '11 taste the barley bree. 



324 THE POETICAL WORKS Of 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
Three merry boys I trow are we ; 

And mony a night we *ve merry been, 
And mony mae we hope to be ! 

We are na fou, &c. 

It is the moon, I ken har horn, 
That 's blinkin in theMift sae hie ; 

She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 
But by my sooth she 'U wait a wee ! 
We are na fou, &c. 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 
A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 

Wha first beside his chair shall fa*, 
He is the king among us three I 

Wc are na fou, &c. 



WHERE BRAVING ANGRY, &c. 

WHERE braving angry winter's storms. 

The lofty Ochels rise, 
Far in their shade ir.y Peggy's charms 

First biest my wondering eyes. 
As one who by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd doubly marked its beam, 

With^rt's most polish'd blaze. 

Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade, 

And blest the day and hour. 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd, 

When first I felt their powV ! 
The tyrant death with grim controul 

May seize my fleeting breath ; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



k '^ ROBERT BURNS. S%S 

SONG— -TUNE— Gz/f/e'r^?/^ 

FROM thee, JEllzay I must go, 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel fates between us thro\y 

A boundless ocean's roar : ^ 
But boundless oceans, roarmg^ide, 

Between my love and me, ^ 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee ;• 

Farewell, farewell Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

We part to meet no more ! 
But the last throb that leaves my heart, 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb. Eliza, is thy part, 

And thine that latest sigh 1 



THEN GUIDWIFE COUNT THE LAWIN. 

GANE is the day and mirk *s the night, 
But we'll nc'cK stray for faute o' light, 
For ale and brandy 's stars and moon, 
And bludc red wine 's the rysin sun. 

Then guidwife count the lawin, the lawin, the lawln. 
Then guidwife count the lawin, and bring a coggie jnaiv 

There *s wealth and ease for gentlemen, 
And semple-folk maun fecht and fen ; 
But here we 're a' in ae accord, 
For ilka man that 's drunk's a lord. 



4 



Then guidwife count, &c. 

My coggle is a haly pool. 

That heals the wounds o' care and dool; 

And pleasure is a wanton trout. 

An' ye drink it a*" ye '11 find him out 

Then guidwjfe count, 8cc. 

F F 



326 TITE POETICAL WORKS Ol 



WANDERIXG AMLLIE. 

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 

Now tired with wandering, hand awa hame ; 

Come to my bosom my ac only dearie, 

And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same* 

Loud blew the cauld winrer winds at our parting: 
It was na the blast brought the tear in my e'e : 

Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 

Ye hurricanes rest in the cave o' your slumbers^ 
O how your wild horrors a lover alarms : 

Awaken ye breezes, row gently ye billows. 

And waft my d^ar laddie ance mair to my arms. 

But if he 's forgotten his faithfulest Nanie, 

O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main ; 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 
But dying believe that niy Willie 's my ain I 



O sav/ ye bonie Lesley 

As she gaed o'er the border ! 
She's gane like Alexander, 

To spread her conquesfc farther 

To see her is to love her, 
And love but her forever ; 

For Nature made her what she is, 
And never made anither. 

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
Thy subjects v/e, before thee : 

Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
j^he hearts o' men adore thee. 

The Deil he could na scaith thee, 
Or aught that wad belang thcc j 

lie 'd look into thy bonie face, 
And say " I canna v/rang thee," 



llOBERT BURNS. S%7 



The powers aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha'na steer thee ; 
Tholi'rt like themselves sae lovely, 

That ill they '11 ne*er let near thee. 

Return again fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There 's nane again sae bonie. 



SONG. 

SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, whom Bruce has aften led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to victorie. 

Now 's the day, and now's the hour^ 
See the front o' battle lour ; 
See approach proud Edward's power- 
Chains and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave 1 
Let him turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draW; 
Free-man stand, or Free-man fa'. 
Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains I 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
W^e will drain our dearest veins. 
But they shall be free ! 

I^ay the proud usurpers low ' 
Tyrants fall in every foe I 
Liberty's in every blow * 
Let U5 DO or die 1 



238 THE POETICAL WORKS Oi 

AULD LANG SYNE. 

SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min' ? 
•hould auld acquaintance be forgot. 
And days o'lang syne ? 

CHORUS. 

* I'or auld lang* sync, my dear, 
rov auld lang- syne. 
We'll tak a cup o'kin Juessyc', 
For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld 8ic- 

"We twa hae paidlct i' the burn, 

Frae mornin sun till dine : 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd, 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld &c . 

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere^ 

And gie's a hand o' thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guide wille-waught 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld &c. 

And surely ye '11 be your pint-stowp, 

And surely I '11 be mine ; 
And we '11 tak a cupo' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 
For auid 8cc. 



Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, thou hast left me ever? 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, thou hast left me ever^ 
Aften hast thou vow'd that death, only should us seven 
Now thou's left thy lass for ay — I maun see thcc never, 
Jamie. 

I'll sec thee never, 



ROBERT BURNS. 329 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, thou hast me forsaken, 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, thou hast me forsaken ; 
Thou canst love anither jo, while my heart is breaking : 
Soon my weary e'en I'll close — never mair to waken, 
Jamie, 

Ne'er mair to waken. 



SONG. — TUNE — Rothemurcfu 

CHORUS. 

Fairest maid on Devon banks, 
Chrystal Devon, winding- Devon, 

Wilt thou lay that frown aside. 

And smile as thou wert wont to do. 

Full well thou knowesti love thee dear, 
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear ! 
O did not love exclaim, " Forbear, 
" Nor use a faithful lover, so." 
Fairest maid, &c. 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair, 
Those wonted smiles, O lei me share ; 
And by thy beauteous self I swear, 
No love but thine my heart shall know. 
Fairest maid &c. 



SONG. 

Tho' cruel fate should bid us part, 
As far *s the pole and line ; 

Her dear idea round my heart 
Should tenderly entwine. 



frown and desarts howlj 
And oceans ^■SlV between ; 
Yet, dearer tl. .j^ my deathless soul, 
I still would* ' ve my Jean. 



330 'i'ltE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

SONG. 

O raging fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low 1 O 
OJraging fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low ! O 
My stem was fair, my bud was green, 

My blossom sweet did blow ; O 
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, 

And made my branches grow ; O 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O. 



SOXG — TUNE — lam a man immar 

O once I lov'd a bonny lass, 

Ay, and I love her still, 
\nd whilst that honor warms my breast 
I '11 love my handsome Nell. 

Falklderal, Sec. 

As bonnie lasses I hae seen. 

And mony full as braw, 
But for a modest gracefu' mein 

The like I never saw. 

A bonnie lass I will confess, 

Is pleasant to the e'e, 
But without some better qualities 

She's no a lass for me. 

But Nelly's looks are biythe and swec;. 

And what is best of a', 
Her reputation is complete, 

And fair without a flaw. 

She dresses ay sae clean and neat, 

Both decent and genteel : 
And then there's something in lier ga; 

Gars ony- dress look weel 



'I en, 



ROBERT BURNS. .331 



A ,^audy dress and gentle air 
May slightly touch the heart, 

But it 's innocence and modesty 
That polishes the dart. 

Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 
'Tis this enchants my soul ; 
For absolutely in my breast 
She reigns without control. 

Fiil lal de ral, S;c, 



MY BONNIE MARY, 

GO fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

An fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink, before I go, 

A service to my bonnie lassie : 
i he boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leu'e my bonnie Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody : 
But it *s not the roar o' sea or shore, 

Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shouts o' war that 's heard afar, 

It 's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 



FRAGMENT. 

MY Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of heavenly rest? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast 



332 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



SONG, EXTEMPORE. 

WHY the deuce should I repine, 
And be an ill forebode r ; 

1 'm twenty three, and five feet nine, 

I '11 go and be a sodger. 

I gat some gear wi' meikle care, 

I held it weel thegither ; 
But now its gane, and something mair^ 

I 'II go and be a sodger. 



FRAGMENT— TUNE—Do^za/^ Blue- 

O LEAVE novels, ye Maucline belles, 
Ye 're safer at your spinning-wheel ; 

Such witching books, are baited hooks 
For rakish rooks like Rob Mossgiel. 

Sing tal lal lay, kc 

Your fine Tom Jones and GrandisoTis, 
They make your youthful fancies reel, 

They heat your brains, and fire your veins, 
And then you 're prey for Rob Mossgiel. 

Beware a tongue that 's smoothly hung ; 

A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
That feeling heart but acts a pan, 

'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 

The frank address, the soft caress, 

Are worse than poisoned darts of steel, 

The frank address and politesse, 
Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 



For he 's far aboon Dunkel the night 
Maun white the slick and a' that. 



TiOBERT BURNS. 



O were my love yon lilack fair, 
Wi* purple blossoms to the spring : 

And I, a bird to shelter there, 
When wearied on my little wing. 

How I wad mourn, when it was torn 
By autumn wild, and winter rude i 

But I wad sing' on wanton wing. 

When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. 



SENSIBILITY, 

•SENSIBILITY how charming, 
T/iou 7ny friend csiYiSi truly tellj 

But distress Mith horrors arming. 
Thou hast also known too well ! 

Fairest flower, behold the lily. 
Blooming in the sunny ray : 

Let the blast sweep o*er the valley, 
See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear the wood lark charm the forest 
Telling o'er his little joys : 

Hapless bird ! a prey the surest^ 
To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought, the hidden treasure, 
Finer feelings can bestow ; 

Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure,. 
Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



SONG — TUNE — Caidd kail in Aher deen- 

How lang and dreary is the night, 

When I am frac my dearie ! 
T restless lie frae e'en to morn, 

Though I wre ne'er sac wcarv,- 



334 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

CHORUS. 

For oh, her lanely nights are lang : 
And oh, her dreams are eerie ; 

And oh, her widow'd heart is sair, 
That's absent frae her dearie. 

When I think on the lightsome days 

I spent wi' thee, my dearie ; 
And now what seas between us roar, 

How can I be but eerie. 

For oh, 8cc. 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours 
The joyless day how dreary : 
It was na sae, ye glinted by, 
When I was wi' my dearie. 

For oh, &c. 



BLYTHE WAS SHE^. 

Blythe, blythe and merry was she, 
Blythe was she but and ben : 

Blythe by the banks of Em, 
And blythe in Gienturet glen. 

BY Oughtertyre grows the aik, 

On Yarrow banks, the birken shaw ; 

But Phemie was a bonier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
Blythe, &c. 

Her looks were like a flow'r in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn { 

She tripped by the banks of Ern, 
As light's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blythe, &c. 

Her bonie face it was as meek 

As ony lamb upon a lee ; 
The evening sun was ne''er sac sweet 

As was the blink o' Phemie*s e*e ; 

Blythe, 8;c. 



ROBERT BURNS. 335 



The Highland hills Pve wancler'd wide, 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; 

But Phemie was the blythest lass 
That ever trode the dewy green. 
Blythe, Sec. 



TIBBIE— TUNE— 7;iz^^ra/c;f'5 Reel 

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day 

,Yc would nae been sae shy : 
For laik o' g-ear ye lightly me, 

But trowth, I care na by. 

YESTREEN I met you on the moor, 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure ; 
Ye geek at me because I 'm poor. 
But fient a hair care I. 
O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

I doubt ria, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink. 
That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye like to try. 
O Tibbie, 1 hae, &c. 

But son ow tak him that 's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows ony saucy quean 
That looks sae proud and high. 
O Tibbie, I hae, 8ic. 

Altho' a lad were e*er sae smart. 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye '11 cast your head anither airt. 
And answer him fu' dry. 
O Tibbie, I hae, Sec. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 

Ye '11 fasten to him like a brier, 

Tho' hardly he for sense or lear, 

Be better than the kye. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 



336 THE POETICAL WOPwKS 01- 

But, Tibbie, lass tak my advice, 
Your daddies gear maks you sae nice ; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price. 
Were yc as poor as I. 
O Tibbie, I iiae, &c. 

There lives a lass in yonder park. 
I would nae gie her under sark, 
For thee wi' a' thy thousan' mark ; 
Ye need nae look sae high. 
O Tibbie, I hae, See. 



LASSIE WITHE LINT-WHITE LOCKS. 

CHORUS- 

Lassie wi' thellnt-white locks, 

Bonie lassie, artless lassie, 
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks, 

Wilt thou be my dearie O. 

Now nature deeds the flowery lea, 
And a' is- young and sweet like thee ; 
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, 
And say thou 'It be my dearie O. 
Lassie wi', &c. 

And when the welcome simmer-shower 
Has chear'd ilk drooping little flower, 
We '11 to the breathing woodbine bower, 
At sultry noon, my dearie O. 
Lassie wi', &c. 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, 
The weary shearer's hameward way ; 
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, 
And talk o' love, my dearie O. 
Lassie wi', &c. 

And when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest j 
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
m comfort thee, my dearie O, 
Lassie wi', &c. 



KOBERT BURKS. '337 

O, FOR ANIE AND TWENTY TA>I ! 

An O, for ane and twenty Tain ! 

An hey, sweet ane andnwenty, Tam ! 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang-. 

An I saw ane and twenty Tam. 

THEY snool me sair, and baud me down, 

And gar me look like bluntie, Tam ; 
But three short years will soon wheel roun^ 

And then conjes ane and twenty Tam. 
An O, for ane, &c . 

A gleib o' Ian, aclauto* gear, 

Was left me by my auntie, Tam ; 
At kith or kin I need na spier. 

An I saw ane and twenty, Tanio 
And O, for ain, &c. 

They '11 hae me wed a wealthy coof, 

Tho' I mysel hae plenty, Tam ; 
But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loot, 

I 'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam I 
An O, for ane, See. 



SONG. 

CHORUS. 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear. 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; 

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet. 

And soft as their parting- tear — Jessy ! 

ALTHOUGH thou jfiaun never be mine, 

Although even hope is denied ; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing 

Than aught in the world beside — Jessy I 
Here's a health, &,c. 

I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day. 

As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms ; 
But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, 
For then I am lockt in thy arms— Jessy ! 
Here's a heMth, dsx. 

G G 



jja THE POETICAL WORKS Gi 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 
I guess by the love rolHng e'e ; 

But why urge the tender confession 
'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree — Jessy 
Here's a health, 5cc. 



I LOVE MY JEAIS 

©T a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best : 
There wild-woods grow, and rivers row. 

And niony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair ; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
rherc s not a bonnie flower, that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green. 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings, 

But minds me o' my Jean. 



SONG — TUNE — Bonnie Dundee. 

IN Mauchline there dwells six proper young Belles, 
The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a' 

Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess. 
In Lon'on or Paris they 'd gotten it a' : 

'diss JVRUer is^ne, IMiss Markland *s divine. 
Miss Smith she has wit, und Miss Betty is braw ; 

There's beauty and fortune to get wi Miss Mprio?:, 
But Ar}nour ^s the jewei for me o' them a'. 



ROBERT BUUI*^3. 339 

THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 

THE small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, 
The murmuring* streamlet ^vinds cloar thro' the vale ; 
The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning, 
And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the green dale : 

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 
While the lingering moments are numbered by care ? 
No flowers gayly springing, nor birds sweetly singing. 
Can soothe the sad bosoni of joyless despair. 

The deed that I dared could it merit their malice, 
A king and a father to place on his throne ? 
His right are these hills and his right arc these vallies, 
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none. 

But 'tis aot my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn, 
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn ; 
Your deeds proved so loyal, in hot bloody trial, 
Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return ! 



DUNCAN GRAY. 

DUNCAN GRAY cam here to wjdo, 

i/c, ha^ the wooing o^t^ 
On blythe yule night when vyre were fu'. 

Ha^ ha., the wooing o*t. 
Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
I^ook'd asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abiegh ; 

Ha^ ha, the wooing o^t. 

Dunean fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd i 

Ha, ha, Isfc. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ha, ha, isfc. 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith blcer't and blin% 
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn ; 

Ha, ha, l^c. 



340 THE POETICAL WORKS Or 

Time and chance are but a tide. 

Slighted love is sair to bide, 

7/a, ha, ^c. 
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he. 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me \ 

Ha, ha, ^c. 

How it comes, let doctors tell, 

Ha, ha, ilfc. 
Meg grew sick — as he grew heal, 

Ha, ha, Isfc. 
Something in her bosom wrings, 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And O, her een, they spak sic things \ 

Ha, ha, iD'c. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace, 

Ha, ha, Isfc. 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 

Ha, ha, (J'c. 
Duncan could na be her death, 
Swelling pity smorr'd his v/rath ; 
Now they 're crouse and canty baith. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



SONG — TUNE — Duncan Gray 

LET not woman e'er complain, 

Of inconstancy in love ; 
Let not woman e'er complain, 

Fickle man is apt to rove ; 

Look abroad through natui'e's range. 
Nature's mighty law is change ; 

Ladies would it not be strange, 
Man should then a monster prove r 

IVIark the winds, and mark the skies ; 

Ocean's ebb, and Oceana's flow : 
Sun and moon but set to rise, 

Roimd and rolmtl the seasons go * 



ROBERT BURNS, 341 



Why then ask of silly man, 

To oppose great nature's plan ? 

We Ml be constant while we can — . 
You can be no more you know. 



SONG — TUNE — 7f he he a Butcher neat and trim 

ON Cessnock banks there lives a lass, 
Could I describe her shape and mien ; 

The graces of her weelfar'd face, 
And the glancin' o' her sparklin' een. 

She 's fresher than the morning dawn 

When rising Phoebus first is seen, 
When dew drops twinkle o'er the lawn , 

An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

She 's stately like yon youthful ash. 

That grows the cowslip braes between, 

And shoots its head above each bush; 
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' e^n. 

She 's spotless as the floAv'ring thorn 

With flow'rs so white and leaves so green^ 

When purest in the dewy morn ; 
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

Her looks are like the sportive lamb, 

When flow'py May adorns the scene, 
That wantons round its bleating dam ; 

An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

Her hair is like the curling mist 

That shades the moimtain side at e'ejT? 
When flow'r-reviving rains are past ; 

An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

Her forehead 's like the show'ry bow, 

When shining sunbeams intervene 
And gild the distant mountains brow; 

An' she's twa glancin* sparklin' een. 
G ©2 



34^ THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Her voice is like the ev*ning thrush 
Th t sings in Cessnock banks unseen, 

While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

Her lips are like the cherries ripe, 
That sunny walls from boreas screen, 

They tempt the taste and charm the sight; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

IJer teeth are like a flock of sheep, 
With fleeces newly washen clean, 

That slowly mount the rising steep ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
That f;cntly stirs the blossom'd beac, 

When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 

But it 's not her air, her form, her face, 
Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, 

But the mind that shines in ev'ry grace 
And chiefly in her sparklin' een. 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O. 

Green grow the rashes, O, 

Green grow the rashes, O, 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, 

V/ere spent among the lasses, O. 

THERE'S nought but care on ev'ry han% 

In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 
What signifies the life o' man, 

An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. 

The warly race may riches chase. 

An' riches still- may fly them, O ; 
An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 

Their hearts cam ne'er -enjoy them, O, 



ROBERT BURM^. 34:3 



But gie me a canny hour at e'en, 
My arms about my dearie, O ; 

An' warly cares, an' warly men, 
May a' gae tapsalteerie, © I 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
Ye 're nought but senseless asses, O ; 

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, 
He dearly lov'd the lasses O ! 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O ; 

Her prentice han' she try'd on man, 
An' then she made the lasses, O ! 

Green girw the rashes, O, &c, 



BONG— TUNE — This is 710 viij ain Iiouse. 

CHORUS. 

O this is no my ain lassie, 

Fair tUo' the lassie be ; 
O weel ken I my ain lassie, 

Kind love is in her e'e. 

I SEE a form, J see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
It wants to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that 's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 

She's bonie, blooming, straight and tall. 
And lang has had my heart in thrall ; 
And ay it charms my very saul, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, Sec. 

A ihief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a biink by a' unseen ; 
But gleg as light are lovers een. 
When kind love is in the e'e 
O this is no, &c. 



344 THE POETICAL WORKS 01 

It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerks ; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that 's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 



ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. 

OH wert thou in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea; 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I 'd shelter thee, I 'd shelter thee : 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield should be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae black and bare, sac black and bare^ 
The desart were a paradise. 

If thou wert there, if thou were there. 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi* thee to reign ; 
The brightest jewel in my crown, 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 



SONG — TUNE — Let ?ne in this ae iitghu 

Q LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet, 
Or art thou wakin, I would wit. 
For love has bound me band and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo, 

CHORUS. 

O let me in this ae night. 

This ae, ae, ae nig-ht. 
For pity's sake this ae night; 

O rise and let me in, jo. 



ROBERT BURNS. 345 



Thou bear^st the whiter wind and weet, 
Nae star blinks through the driving sleet ; 
Tak pity on my weary feet, 

And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
O let main, &c. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's : 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 

O let me in, &c. 



HER ANSWER 

O TELL na me o* wind and raili. 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain, 
Gae back the gate ye cam agaiti, 
I winna let you in, jo, 

CHORUS. 

I tell you now this ae nig-ht. 

This ae, ae, ae night, 
And ance for a' this ae night, 

I winna let you in, jo. 

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours. 
That round the pathless wand'rer pours^j» 
Is nocht to what poor she endures 
That 's trivsted faithless man, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, 
Now trodden like the vilest weed : 
Let simple maid the lesson read, 
The weird may be her ain, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

The bird that charmM his summer-day, 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; 
Let witless, trusting, women say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 
1 tell you now, &c/ 



346 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR. 



WH A is that at my bower door ? 

O wha is it but Findlay ; 
Then gae your gate ye'se nae be here 

Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. 
What maks ye sae like a thief? 

come and see, quo' Findlay; 
Before the morn ye '11 work mischief; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Gif I rise and let you in ? 
^ Let me in, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye 'II keep me waukin wi' yo\ir din ^ 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
In my bower if ye should stay ? 

Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; 
I fear ye '11 bide till break o' day ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Here this night if ye remain, 

1 '11 remain quo' Findlay ; 

I dread ye '11 learn the gate again ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay ; 
What may pass within this bower, 

Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 
.Ye maun conceal 'till your last hotr ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay ! 



MY MARY'S FACE, 

MY Mary's face, my Mary's form, 
The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
My Mary's worth, my Mary's mind, 
Might charm the first of human kind. 
I love my Mary's angel air, 
Her face so truly heavenly fair, 
Her native grace so void of art ; 
But I adore my Mary's heart. 



ROBERT BUilNi). 34;? 



The lily's hue, the rose's dye, 
The kindling lustre of an eye — 
Who but owns their magic sway ? 
Who but knows they all decay ? 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear, 
The generous purpose, nobJy dear, 
The gentle look that rage disarms,— 
These are all immortal charms ! 

SONG. 

NAE gentle dames, tho* e*er sae fair. 
Shall ever be my muse's care ; 
Their title's a' are empty show ; 
Gie me my highland lassie O. 

Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O, 
I set me down wi' right good will ; 
To sing my highland lassie, O. 

were yon hills and vallies mine. 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 

1 bear my highland lassie, O. 

Within the glen, &:c. 

But fickle fortune frowns on me, 
And I maun cross the raging sea ; 
But while my crimson currents flow 
I'll love my highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change 
For her bosom burns with honour's glow 
My faithful highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

For her I '11 dare the billows' roar, 
For her I '11 trace a distant shore, 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw. 
Around my highland lassie, O. 

Within the glen, &c. 



348 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

She has my heart, she has my hand, 
By sacred truth and honor's band ! 
*Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low- 
I *m thine my highland lassie, O. 
Farewell the glen, &c. 



DAINTY DAVIE. 

Now rosy May comes in wi* flowers, 
To deck her gay, green spreading bowgrb. 
And now comes in my happy hours. 
To wander wi' my Davie. 

CHORUS. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe. 

Dainty Davie, dainty Davie, 
There I'll spend the day wi' you 

My ain dear dainty Davie. 

The chrystal waters round us fa'. 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A wandering wi' my Davie. 

Meet me, &c. 

When purple morning starts the hare 
To steal upon her early fare. 
Then thro* the dews I will repair. 
To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

When day, expiring in the west. 
The curtain draws o' nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I loe best, 
And that's my ain dear Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

S ONG — TUNE — iVo rag", 

O WHA is she that loe's me, 
And has my heart a keeping ? 

O sweet is she that loe's me, 
As dews o' summer weeping, 
In tears the rose buds steeping- 



ROBERT BURNS. 341 



CHORUS. 



O that 's the lassie o' my heart, 
My lassie ever dearer, 

O that 's the queen o' woman kind^ 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

If thou shalt meet a lassie, 

In grace and beauty charming, 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 

Ere while thy breast sae warming. 
Aad ne'er sic powers alarming. 
O that 's, &c. 

If thou hadst heard her talking 

And thy attentions plighted. 
That ilka body talking, 

But her by thee is slighted ; 

And thou art all delighted, 
O that 's &c. 

If thou hast met this fair one ; 
Wheii frae her thou hast parted, 

If every other fair one, 

But her thou hast deserted, 
And thou art broken hearted. — 
O that's &c. 



AY WAKING, O 

AY waking, O ! 
Waking ay and wearie, 

Rest I canna get 
For thinking on my dearie. 

O this love^ this love ! 
Life to me how dreary I 

When I sleep I dream ; 
O ! when I wake I 'm eerie. 

this love J this love I 

Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow. 

While my soul's delight 
is on hCr bed of sorrow. 

H R 



350 THE POETICAL WORKS^ OP 

Can I cease to care. 

Can I cease to languish, 

While my darling fair 

Is on the couch of anguish ? 
O this lovCy this lovCj 

Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow, 
While my soul's delight 

Is on her bed of sorrow. 
Ev'ry hope is fled, 

Ev*ry fear is terror ; 
Slumber ev'n I dread, 

Ev'ry dream is horror. 

O this love, this love ! 

Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow, 
While my soul's delight 

Is on the bed of sorrow. 
Hear me powers divine ! 

Oh, in pity hear me ! 
Take aught else of mine, 

But my Chloris spare me ! 
Spare, O spare my Love I 



HARK THE MAVIS, &c 

HARK I the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's woods amang ; 
Then a fuulding let us gang, 
ISIy bonnie dearie. 

Cu' the ewes to the knowes, 
Ca' them where the heather g^row?. 
Ca'them where the burnie rows, 
.M'y boniue, bonnie, dearie, 
Ca' them where the burn rows. 
My bonnie dearie. 



ROBERT BUR>vS. 5,5 1 



Wc '11 gae down by Clouden-side, 
Through the hazel's spreading wide 
O'er the waves, that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 

Ca' the ewes, Sec. 

Yonder Clouden's silent towers, 
Where at moon-shine mid-night hour* 
Cer the dewy bending flowers 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' the cwcs^ kc. 

Gaist nor bogle shalt thou fear, 
Thou 'rt to love and heaven sac dciir. 
Nought of ill may come thee nc^r. 
My bonnie dearie. 

Cu' the ewes, kc. 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thoti hast stown my very heart*. 
I can die, — but canna part, 
My bonnie dearie. 

Ca' the ewes, kr. 



ON A BANK OF FLOWERS, &; 

ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day. 

For summer lightly drest, 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay, 

With love and sleep opprest ; 
When Willie, w^and'ring through the wood, 
Who for her favour oft had sued ; 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 

And trembled where he stood. 

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath 'd, 

Were seal'd in soft repose ; 
Her lips, still as she fragrant breath'd. 

It richer dy'd the rose. 



J2 llii^ POETICAL WORKS 01' 

rhe springing lilies sweetly prest, 
Wild, wanton kiss'cl her rival breast ; 
lie gaz\l, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd. 
His bosom ill at rest. 

Her robes, light waving in the breeze, 

Her tender li wbs embrace ; 
Her lovely form, her native case., 

All harmony and grace : 
rumultuoLis tides his pulses roll, 
A faltering ardent kiss he stole ; 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'U, 

And sigh'd his very soul. 

As flies the partridge from the brakc^ 

On fear-inspired wings ; 
So Nelly, starting, half awake, 

Away affrighted springs : 
But Willie follow'cl, — as he should, 
He overtook her in the wood ; 
He vow*d, he pray'd, he found the maid 

Forgiving all, and good. 



FAREWELL, DEAR MISTRESS, Lc. 

FAREWELL, dear mistres!i of my soul, 

The measur'd time is run! 
The wretch beneath the dreary pole. 

So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night. 

Alas ! shall thy poor wanderer hie ? 
Depriv'd of thee, his life and light. 

The sun of all his joy. 

We part — but by these precious drops.. 

That fill thy lovely eyes 1 
No other light shall guide my steps, 

'Till thy bright beams arise. 



ROBERT BURNS, 353 



She, the fair sun of all her sex, 
Has blest my happy, glorious day ; 

And ne^er shall glimmering planet fix 
My worship to its ray. 



BONIE LASSIE— AIR— .T/?e^?>is of Ahergddk^ 

BONIE lassie, will ye go, 

Will ye go, will ye go, 
Bonie lassie, will ye go 

To the birks of Aberfeldy ? 
Now simmer blinks on flow'ry braes. 
And o'er the chrystal streamlet plays ; 
Come, let us spend the lightsome d^ys 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassJe, will ye go., 
Will ye go, will ye go, 
Bonie lassie will ye go 

To the birks of Aberfeldy? 
The little birdies blythely sing. 
While o'er their heads the hazels hing. 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassie, will ye go. 

Will ye go, will ye go, 
Bonie lassie, will ye go 

To the birks of Aberfeldy ? 
The braes ascend like lofty wa's, 
The foaming stream deep roaring fa's, 
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shawsj 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassie, will ye go. 

Will ye go, will ye go, 
Bonie lassie, will ye go 

To the birks of Aberfeldy, 
Hh2 



354 THE POETICAL WORKS OP 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi* flowers, 
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassie, will ye go 

Will yc go, will ye go, 
Bonie lassie, will ye g© 

To the birks of Aberfeldy ? 
Let Fortune's gifts at random flee, 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee 
Ih the birks of Aberfeldy. 



NOW SPRING HAS CI.AD, &v 

NOW Spring has clad the grove in er»-en. 

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers. 
The furrow'd waving corn is s'ect. 

Rejoice in fostering showers. 
While ilka thing in nature join 

TJicir sorrows to forego, 
O why thus all alone are minB 

The weary steps of woe ! 

The trout within yon wimpling bun. 

That glides a silver dart, 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art : 
yiy life was ance that careless stream,. 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 

Has scorch'd my fountains dry. 

The little flow'ret'e peaceful lot, 

In yonder cliff that grows, 
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot? 

Nue ruder visit knows, 
Was mine — 'till Jove has o'er me pasK 

And blighted a' my bloom ; 
And now beneath the withering blast 

My youth and joyxonbume. 



ROBERT BURKS. 3*.5, 

The wakenM lav*rock warbling springs, 

And climbs the early sky, 
Winnowing blythe her dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye : 
As little reckt I sorrow's power, 

Until the flowery snare 
Of witching love, in luckless hour, 

Made me the thrall of care. 

O had my fate been Greenland snows, 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
\Vi' man and nature leagu'd my foes. 

So Peggy ne'er I 'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is " hope nae mair,'* 

What tongue his woes can tell ; 
Within whase bosom, save Despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell ! 



FRAGMENT— TUNE— Z)ai/2/^i(? Davh 

THERE was a lad was born in Kyle, 
But what'n a day o' what'n a style 
I doubt its liardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 

Robin was a rovin' boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; 
Robin was a rovin' Boy, 

Rantin' rovin' Robin, 

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
Was five and twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a blast o' Jan war Win' 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 

The gossip keckit in his loof, 
Quo' scho wha lives will see the proof, 
This waly boy will be nae coof, 
I think we '11 ca' him Robin. 

He '11 hae misfortunes great and sma', 
But ay a heart aboon them a' ; 
He '11 be a credit 'till us a% 
We '11 a' be proud o' Robin. 



^^Q THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

But sure as three times three mak nmej 
I see by ilka score and line, 
This chap will dearly like our kin', 
So leeze mc on thee Robin. 

Guid faith quo' scho I doubt you Sir, 
Ye gar the lasses * * * * 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur 
I So blessin's on thee^ Robin ! 
^ Robin was, &c. 



HUNTING SONG. 

THE heather was blooming ; tl^e meadows were maM^n 
Our lads gaed a hunting, ae the day at the dawn, 
O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen. 
At length they discovered a bonie moor-hen, 

I rede you beware at the hunting', young- men : 
I rede you beware at the hunting, yOung men : 
Tak some on the "vving, and some as they spring", 
But cannily steal on a bonie moor-hen. 

Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather bells, 
Her colors betray'd her on yon mossy fells : 
Her plumage out-lustred the pride o' the spring, 
And O I as she wantoned gay on the wing. 

I rede, &c. 

Auld Phoebus himsel, as he peep'd o*er the hill ; 
In spite at her plumage he tryed his skill ; 
He levell'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae-— 
His rays where outshone, and butmark'd where she lay. 

I rede, &c. 

They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill ; 
The best of our lads wi' the best o' their shill ; 
But still as the fairest she sat in their sight, 

Then, whirr ! she was over, a mile at a flight' 

I rede, S;c. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

UP IN THE MORNKSTG EARLY. 

Up in the morning" 's no for me. 

Up in the mornings early : 
When a' the hills are covered wl' snaw, 

I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 

Cold blaws the wind frae east to west, 

The drift is driving sairly ! 
Sae loud and shrill 's I hear the blast, 

I 'm sure it *s winter fairly. 

The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 

A* day they fare but sparely ; 
And lang*s the night frae e'en to morn, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 
Up in the morning', kc. 



JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 

John Anderson my jo, John, when we were first acquentj 
Your locks were like the raven, your bonnie brow was 

brent ; 
But now your brow is held, John, your locks are like the 

snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. 

John Anderson my jo, John, we clamb the hill thegither ; 
And mony a canty day John, we've had wi' ane anither : 
Now we moun totter down, John, but hand in hand we 'II 

go; 
And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo* 



THERE'S A YOUTH IN TEHS CITY. 

THERE 'S a youth in this city, it were a great pity- 
That he from our lasses should wander awa ; 

For he 's boni^ and braw, wecl-favor'd with a% 
And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. 

yis coat is the hue of his bonnet sao blue ; 
His fecket is white as the new-drivcn snaw ; 

His hose they are blae, and hisshoon like the slae. 
Ami his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. 
Hivcoat is the hue, &c. 



358 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

For beauty and fortune the laddie 's been courlin ; 

Weel-f©iitur'dj weel-tocher\l, weel-mounted and braw; 
But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her, 

The pennie 's the jewel that beautifies a*. — 
There 's Meg wi' the mailin, that fain wad a hean him, 

And Susy whasc daddy was Laird o' the ha' ; 
There 's lang-locher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy, 

— But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of \\\ 



APPENDIX. 

THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 
A CANTATA. 

RECITATIVO. 

WHEN lyart leaves bestrow the yird, 
Or wavering like the Bauckie-bird, 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast ; 
When hailstanes drive wi* bitter skyte, 
And infant frosts begin to bite, 

In hoary cranreuch drest ; 
Ae night at e'en a merry core 
O' randie, grangrel bodies, 
In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore, 
To drink their orra duddies:* 
^Vi' qauffing and laughing, 

They ranted and they sang ; 
Wi' jumping and thumping, 
The vera girdle rang. 

1" irst niest the fire in auld red rags, 
And^sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a' in order ! 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm, 

She blinkiton her sodger: 
An' ay he gies the tozie drab 

The tither skelpin kiss, 
WTiile she held up her greedy gab 

Just like an aumos dish. 

* Orra tluddies,' Supernumerary 6ld clothes. 



350 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Ilk smack still, did crack still, 

Just like a cadger's whip, 
Ttien staggering and swaggering 

He roar'd this ditty up — 

AIR — TUNE — Soldier'^s Joij.. 

I am a son of Mars who have been in many wars. 
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; 
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench 
When welcoming the French at the sound of the dru 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

My prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his la^,.^ 
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram ; 
I served out my trade when the gallant game was play'd 
And the Moro low was' laid at the sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &.c. 

I lastly was with Curtis among the floating batt'ries. 
And there I left for witness an ann and a limb ! 
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head mc^ 
I 'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

And now tho' I must beg with a wooden arm and Ic^; 
And many a tattcr'd rag hanging over my bum, 
I 'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callc 
As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. 

Lai de daudle, &.c. 

What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winlci 

shocks, 
Beneath the woods and rocks ofleinimes for a home, 
When the tother bag I sell, and the tothcr bottle tell, 
I could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of the drum 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars sheuk, 

Aboon the chorus roar ; 
While frighted rattons backward leuk, 

And seek the benmost bore ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 361 

A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, 

He skirl'd out encore I 
But up arose the martial chuck? 

And laid the loud uproar. 

AIR — TUNE — Soldier Laddie* 

I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, 
And still my delight is ia proper young men ; 
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie. 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 

Sing-, Lai de lal, &c. 

The first of my loveS was a swaggering blade, 
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade ; 
His leg was so light, and his cheek was so ruddy. 
Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, Sec. 

J5ut the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch; 
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church ; 
He ventured the souU and I risked the body., 
Twas then I prov'd fiilse to my sodger laddie. 

Sing-, Lal de hil, &c. 

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, 
The regiment at large for a husband I got ; 
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, 
I asked no fiiore but a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, 8;c. 

But the peace it reducM me to beg in despair, 
Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair ; 
His vaga regimental they fluttered so gaudy, 
My heart it rejoicM at my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, S.c. 

And now I hav* liv'd — I know not how long, 

And still I can join in a cup or a song j 

But whilst with both hands 1 can hold the glass steady, 

Here 's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. 

^^ Sinir. Lal de lal, &c. 

1 1 



362 THE POETICAL WORKS 01 

RECITATIVO. 

The niest outspak a raucle carlin, 
Wha kent fu* weel to cleek the sterling, 
For mony pursie she had hooked. 
And had in mony a well been ducked. 
Her dove had been a Highland laddie, 
But weary fa* the waefu* woodie ! 
Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highlandman. 

AIR — TUNE — an ye were dead gudeman, 

A Highland lad my love was born, 
The Lalland laws he held in scorn ; 
But he still was faithfu' to his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman ! 
Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman ! 
There 's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
Was match to my John Highhmdman. 

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, 
An' gude claymore down by his side. 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; 
For a Lallund face he feared none, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey, &c; 

They banish'd him beyond the sea, 
But ere ti«e bud was on the tree, 
A.down my cheeks the pearls rangv 
EiYibracing my John Highlandman. ^ 
Sing, hey, &.C. 

But oh ! they catch'd him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon f<iSt; 
My curse upon them every <>'k^^ 
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman 
Sing, hey, &c. 



ROBERT BURNS. 36. 

And now a widow I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
No comfort but a hearty cann, 
Yhen I think on John Highlandman , 
Sing-, hey, &.c- 

RECITATIVO. 

A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle 

Wha us*d at trysts and fairs to driddje, 

Her strappan limb and gawsy middle 

He reached nae higher, 
Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, 

An* blawn't on fire. 

Wi' hand or haunch, an upward e*e, 
He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, 
Then in an Arioso key, 

The wee Apollo 
Sei off ivi^ Allegretto glee 

His giga solo. 

AIR — TUNE — Whistle oxure the lave o*t. 

Let me ryke up to dight that tear, 
An' go wi' me to be my dear, 
An' then your every care and fear 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

CHORUS, 

I am a fiddler to my trade, 

An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd. 

The sweetest still to wife or maid, 

Was whistle owre the lave o't. 
« 

At kirns an' \yeddings we'se be there, 
An' O ! sae nicely we will fare ; 
We '11 bouse about till Daddie Care, 
Sing, whistle owre the lave o't. 
I arn, &c. 






364 THE POETICAL WORKS Of 

ae merrily *s the banes we 'il pyke. 
An' sun oursels about the dyke, 
An' at our leisure when ye like^ 
We '11 whistle owre the lave o't. 
1 am, &.C. 

But bless me wi' your heaven o' channs* 
And while I kittle hair on thairmsj 

Hunger, cauld an' a' sic harms. 
May whistle owre the lave o't, 
I am, &c. 

RECITATIVU. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy Caird. 

As wecl as poor Gutscrapcr ; 
He taks the fiddler by the beard, 

And draws a roosty rapier. — 
lie swoor by a' was swearing worth, 

To speet him like a pliver, 
Unless he would fra' that time forth. 

Relinquish her for ever. 

Wi' ghastly e'c, poor tweedlc-dee 

Upon his hunkers bended, 
And prayM for grace wi* ruefu* face, 

And so the quarrel ended. 
But tho' his little heart did grieve, 

When round the tinker prest her, 
He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, 

When thus the Caird address'd her. 

^IIR — TUNE — Clout the Caudron. 

My bonny lass I work in brass, 

A tinker is my station ; 
I've travelled round all Christian ground 

In this my occupation. 
I 've ta'en the gold, I 've been enrolled 

In many a noble squadron ; 
But vain they search'd, when off I march'd 

To go and clout the caudron. 

I 'rC ta'en the gold, &c 



ROBERT BURNS. 36o 



Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, 

Wi' a' his noise and caprin, 
An' tak' a share wi' those that bear 

The budget an' the ajiron. 
An' by that stowp ! my faith an' hoiipe. 

An* by that dear Keiibaigie, 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, 

May I ne'er weet my craigie, 

An' by that stowp, &.C. 

RECITATIVO. 

The Caird prevail'd — th' unblushing fair, 

In his embraces sunk, 
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, 

An' partly she was drunk. 
Sir Violino with an air, 

That show'd a man of spunk, 
Wish'd xmison between the pair. 

An' made the bottle clunk 

To their health that night. 

Butjiurchin Cupid shot a shaft 

That play'd a dame a shavie, 
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, 

Behint the chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft, 

Tho' limping wi* the spavie. 
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft, 

An' shor'd them Dainty Daivie 
O boot that night. 

He was a care-defying blade, 

As ever Bacchus listed, 
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid^ 

His heart she ever miss'd it. 
He had no wish but — to be glad, 

Nor want but — when he thirsted , 
He hated nought but — to be sad, 

And thus the muse suggested 
His sang that night. 
Ii 2 



366 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

AIR — TUNE — For d thaty and «' that, 

I am a bard of no regard, 

Wi' gentle folks, an' a* that ; 
But Homer-like, the glowran byke, 

Frae town to town I draw that. 

CHORUS. 

For a* that, an' a' that. 

An' twice as muckle 's a' that ; 

I 've lost but ane, I 've tvva behin', 
I 've Tvife enough for a' that. 

I never drank the Muses' stank, 

Castalia's burn, an' a' that ; 
But there it streams, and richly reams, 

My Helicon I ca' that. 

For a' that, Sec. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair, 

Their humble slave, an' a' that ; 
But lordly will, I hold it still 

A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a' that, &c. 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet 

Wi* mutual love, an' a' that; 
But for how.lang Xh^Jiic may sia?ig, 

Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, 8cc. 

Their tricks and craft have put me daft. 

They've ta*en me in, an' a' that: 
But clear your decks, an' here 's the sex t 

I like the jads for a* that. 

For a' that, £tc. 

RECITATIVO. 

So sung the bard — and Nansie 's wa's 
Shook with a thunder of applause, 

Re-echo'd from each mouth ; 
They toom'd their pocks, and pawn'd their duds. 
They scarcely left to coor their fuds, 

To quench their lowan drouth. 



ROBERT BURKS. 36: 



Then owre again, the jovial thrang, 

The poet did request, 
To lowse his pack an wale a sang, 
A ballad o* the best : 
He rising, rejoicing 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
Looks round him, an' found them 
Impatient for the chorus. 



AIR — TUNE — Jolly Mortals Jill ijour glasse^s 

See ! the smoking bowl before us, 

Mark our jovial ragged ring ! 
Round and round take up the chorus, 

And in raptures let us sing. 

CHORUS. 

A fig' for those by law protected ! 

Liberty 's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected. 

Churches buih to please the priest. 

What is title ? what is treasure ? 

What is reputation's care ? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

'Tis no matter hoiv or tvhere I 
A fig, &c. 

With the ready trick and fable, 

Round we wander all the day ; 
And at night, in barn or stable. 

Hug our doxies on the hay. 

A fig, 8;c. 

Does the train attended carriage, 

T'nrough the country lighter rove? 
Does the sober bed of marriage 

Witness brighter scenes of love ? 
,A fig, &c- 



368 THE POETICAL WORKS 01* 

Life is all a variorum^ 

We regard not how it goes ; 
Let them cant about decorum^ 

Who have characters to lose. 

A fig-, &c. 

Here 's to budgets, bags and wallets ! 

Here's to all the wand'ring train ! 
Here 's our ragged broga and callets / 

One and all cry out, Amen ! 

A fig, &c. 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 

THOU, wha in the heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best thysel', 

Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, 
A' for thy glory, 

And no for ony guid or ill 

They 've done afore thee f 

1 bless and praise thy matchless might. 
Whan thousands thou has left in night, 

rhat I am here afore thy sight, 

For gifts an* grace, 

\ burnin* an' a shinin* light. 

To a' this place. 

What was I, or my generation, 
That I should get such exaltation, 
I wha deserve sic just damnation, 

For broken laws. 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation, 

Thro' Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell. 
Thou might hae plunged me in hell. 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnin lake, 
Whar damned devils roar and yell, 

Ch^in'd to a stake. 



ROBEUL' iJUllXS. .>69 

Yet I am here a chosen sample, 

To show thy grace is great an' anvplc ; 

I »m here a pillar in thy temple. 

4P Strong as a rock, 

A guide, a buckler, an' example 
To a' thy flock. 

But yet, O L — d ! confess I must, 
At times I 'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust, 
An' sometimes too, \vi' warldly trust 

Vile self gets in ; 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defil'd in sin. 

O L — d ! yestreen, thou kens, wi' ]Meg, 

Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 

O ! may it ne'er be a livin' plague, 

To my dishonour, 
An' I '11 ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her. 

Besides, I farther maun allow, 

Wi' Lizie's lass, three times I trow : 

Uut, L—d that Friday I was fou', 

When I came near her, 
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true 

Wnd n©'«r hac Steer'd hCTj 

Maybe thou lets i\\i?>Jleshlij thorn. 
Beset thy servant e'en and morn, 
Lest he owre high and proud shou'd turn, 

'Cause he' sae gifted ; 
If sac, thy han' maun e'en be born. 

Until thou lift it. 

L — d bless thy chosen in this place, 

For here thou hast a chosen race ; 

But G — d confound their stubborn face. 

And blast their name, 
"VV'ii^ bring thy elders to disgrace, 

And public aliamc,- 



370 THE POETICAL WORKS OP 

L — d mind G n H n's deserts, 

He drinks, an' «wearc, an' plays at carts, 
Yet has sae mony takin arts, 

Wi' grit an* sma*, 
Frae G-— d's an' priests the people's hearts 

He steals awa'. 

An' whan we chasten'd him therefore, 
Thoii kens how he bred sic a splore. 
As set the warld in a roar • 

O' laughin* at us ; 
Curse thou his basket and his store. 

Kail an' potatoes. 

Lr— d hear my earnest cry and pray'r, 

Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr ; 

Thy strong right hand, L — d make it bare, 

Upo' their heads, 
L— d weigh it down, and dinna spare, 

For their misdeeds. 

O L— d my G-d, that glib-tongia'd A — r\. 

My very heart an* saul are quakin', 

To think how we stood sweatin*, shakin', 

An' pi — d wi' dread^ 
While he wi' hingin' lips and snakin', 

Held up his head. 

L — d in the day of vengeance try him.. 
L — d visit them wha did employ him, 
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em. 

Nor hear their pray'r ; 
But for thy people's sake destroy 'em 

And dinna spare. 

But li — d remember me and mine, 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine* 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Excell'd by nane ; 
An' a' the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, AmcKv 



ROBERT BURNS. 37I 

TO THE REV. JOHN IM MATH, 

Inclosing' a copy of Holy Willie's prayer, whlchhe had. requested. 

WHH|p at the stook the shearers cow'r 

To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, 

Or in gulravage rinnin scow*r y 

To pass the time, 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet 

On gown, an' ban', an' douse black bonnet. 

Is grown right eerie now she's done it. 

Lest they should blame her, 
An' rouse their holy thunder on it 

And anatheni her. 

I own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy, 
That I, a simple countra bardie, 
Shou'd meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me, 
.Can easy, wi' a single wordie. 

Louse. hell upon mc. 

But I gae mad at their grimaces, 
Their sighan, cantan, grace-prood faces. 
Their three-mile prayers, an' hauf-mile gracesj 

Their raxan conscience, 
Whaws greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces 

Waur nor their nonsense. 

There 's Gaun^ miska't waur than a beast, 
Wha has mair honor in his breast 
Than mony scores as guid 's the priest 

Wha sae abus't him. 
An' may a bard no crack his jest 

What way they 've use't him. 

See him, the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in Word an' deed. 
An' shall his fame an' honor bleed 

By worthless skellums, 
An' not a muse erect her head 

To cowe the blellums ? 



37^ THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Pope, had I thy satire 's darts 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 

1 'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 

An' tell aloud 
Their jugglin' hocus pocus arts 

To cheat the crowd'. 

God knows, I 'm no the thing I shou'd he? 
Nor am I even the thing I cou'd be, 
But twenty times, I rather wou'd be 

An atheist clean, 
Than under gospel colors hid be 

Just for a screen. 

An honest man may like a glass. 
An honest man may like a glass, 
But mean revenge, an' malice fause 

He '11 still disdain, 
An' then cry zeal for gospel laws. 

Like some we ken. 

They take religion in their mouth ; 
They talk o' mercy, grace an' truth, 
For what ? to gie their malice skouth 

On some puir wighf. 
An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth. 

To ruin streight.^ 

All hail, religion ! maid divine ! 
Pardon a muse sae mean- as mine, 
Who in her rough imperfect line. 

Thus daurs to name thee 
To stigmatize false friends of thine 

Can ne'er defame thee. 

Tho' blotch't an' foul wi' mony a stain. 

An' far unworthy of thy train. 

With trembling voice I tune my strain 

To join with those, 
Who lioldly dare thy cause maintain 

In spite of foes : 



In Bplte o' ci'crvvdsj in spite o' mobsj 
Jn §pite Qf un4ermimng jobs, 
Tn ^ite o' dark banditti gt^vb^ 

^ At worth an' mRrli 

:iy scoiindre4s) even wl' holy robey. 
But bdlis^h jjpliit. 

Q Ayr, my dear, my native gi'QOndj 
Within thy presbytereal bound 
A candid Ub'ral bapd i§ found 

Of public tmQhoYh^ 
As mf Hj m christians too renown'd, 

An* manly preacher^^v 

Sir, iti that; circle yQu are nam'd j 
Sir, in that circle you ?.re famed j 

\iv Bonie, by whom your doetrlne 's blam'd^ 
(Which gies you honor) 

;ven Sir, by them your heart '5 esteem'd, 



An' winning manner. 



c* 



t/ardon this freedom I have ta'on, 
An' if impertinent X 've been, 
Tmpute it notj good Sir, in ane 

Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye 
IJut to his utmost would befriend 

Ought that belan^'d y«^. 



EFITAFIi OH HOLY WILLI li 

•; ERE Holy Willie *8 aair worn clay 

Talcs up its last abode ; 
lis saul has ta'cn some other way, 

I fear, the left hand road. 

Hop ! there he is as sure *s a gun. 

Poor silly body see him ; 
\'ae wonder he 's as black 's the grun, 

Observe wha 's standing wi' him, 

K K 



374 THE POETICAL WORKS 01^ 

Your brunstane devilship I see 

Has gotten him there before yc ; 
But ha'd your nkie tail cat a wee ; 

Till ance you 've heard my story. 

Vour pity I will not implore, 

For pity ye have nane ; 
Justice, alas ! has gi*en him o*er, 

And mercy's day is gaen. 

But hear me, Sir, dei'I as ye are, 

Look something to your credit ; 
A coof like him wou'd stain your iiair.-. , 

If it were kent ye did it. 

LINES 

Written on windows of the Globe Tavern, Duftifnes, 

I MURDER hate by field or flood, 

Tho' glory's name may screen us ; 
In wars at hame 1*11 spend my bloody 

Life-giving wars of Venus. 

The deities that I adore. 

Are social Peace and Plenty, 
I 'm better pleasM to make one more^ 

Than be the death of twenty. 



MY bottle is a holy pool. 
That heals the wounds o' care an' dool 
iVnd pleasure is a wanton trout. 
An' ye drink it, ye '11 find him out. 



IN politics if thou would'st mix, 
And mean thy fortunes be ; 

Bear this in mind, be (iedf and blind. 
Let great folks hear and see. 



ttOBKRT BURNS, 375 

EPIGRAM. 

■ iUllKS, accompanied by a friend, having gone to Invevary at a 
lime when some company were there on a visit to his Grace the 
Diike of Argyll, finding himself and his companion entirely ne- 
glected by the Inn-keeper, whose whole attention seemed to be 
occupied with the visitors of his Cirace, expressed his disappro- 
bation of the incivility with which they were tr<";it(ed in \hr fol. 
lowing lines t 

WHOE'ER he be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case, 
Unless he come to 'vvait upon 

The Lord their God, his gvace. 
There's naething here but Highland pride. 

And Highland scab and hunger; 
r Providence has sent me here, 

'Twas surely in an anger. 



TO DR. MAXWELL, 

OJV MISS JESSr STMG'S HECOVEBY 

MAXWELL, if merit here you crave, 

That merit I deny : 
Yoti save fair Jessie from the grave ! 

An angel could not die. 



THE TWA HERDS, or IIOL^ TOOLZIE 

O A' ye pious godly flocks. 
Well fed on pastures orthodox, 
Wha now ^vill keep you frae the fox, 

Or worrying tykes, 
Or wha ^vilI tent the waifs and crocks, 

About the dykes. 

The twa best herds in a' the wast. 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast, 
These five and twenty summers past, 

O ! dool to tell, 
Hae had a bitter black out-cast 

Atween themsel. 



O, M-— y, matij and ^vorcly R^^^-^Uj 

How could you raise so vile a buhtle, 

Yc '11 see bow new-lighl herds will whistle 

And think it fine ! 
f he Lord's rause ne'er gat sic a twisik, 

Sin* I hae min'. 

O, Sirs 1 V.'hac'ci- wad hae cxpekitj 

>*our duty yc wad sac ncglekit^ 

Ve Wha were ne'er by lairds respekifa 

To v,ear the plaidi 
But by the brutes them Belves elekit. 

To be their' guide. 

^Vhat flock wi' M--««y*8 flock dould rm\h 
?ae hald and hearty every shahkj 
Mae poisoned soor Arminian stank | 
He let them tayte? 

Vi%& Mm*% well} ay ms^v they dm\ikt 
O^ m ft fm^i I 

The thumTO^rt, wiliest, broek and tod, 
Weel kcnd his voice thro' a* the wood) 
He smeird their ilfea hole and rond) 

Baith out and in, 
And wcel he Uk'd to shed their bUiid, 

And sell their skin. 

What herd like R 11 tell'd his'tale, 

His voice was heard thro' muir and dale. 
He kend the Lord's sheep ilka tail, 

O'er a' the height, 
And saw gin they were sick or hale, 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, 

Or nobly fling the gospel club, 

And new-light herds could nicely drub, 

Or pay their skin, 
CouUl shake them o'er the burning dub. 

Or hcav" '' " '^ 



ROBERT BURNS. S7f 

Sic twa, O ! do I live to see 't, 
Sic famous twa should disagreet. 
And names, like villain, hypocrite. 

Ilk ither gi'en, 
While new-light herds wi' laughin' spit^. 

Say neither's liein'. 

A* ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 

There 's D n deep, and P s, shaul, 

But chiefly thou, apostle A' — d, 

We trust in thee, 
fhat thou wilt work them, hot and cauld, 

Till they agree. 

Consider, Sirs, how we 're beset. 
There 's scarce a new herd that we geir, 
Sut comes frae *mang that cursed set, 

I winna name. 
I hope frac hcav'n to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 

D e has been lang our fae, 

M' 11 has wrought us meiklc wac, 

And that cursM rascal ca'd M' e. 

And baith the S- f 

That aft hac made us black and blae, 

V/i' vcngefu' paws. 

Auld W w, lang has hatch'd nsnischief. 

We thought ay death wad bring relief^ 
But he has gotten to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chield wha '11 soundly bufl'our beef^ 

I meikle dread him-. 

And monie a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forby turn-coats amang oursel, 

There 's S — h for i^nCj 
r doubt he's but a grey nick quill, 

And that ye '11 fin' 

Kk2 



278 THE POETtCAL "WORKS OF 

O I a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills, 

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, 

Come join your counsel and your skills, 

To cow the lairds, 
And get the brutes the power themselb, 

To choose their herds. 

Then orthodoxy yet may prance, 
And learning in a woody dance, 
And that fell cur caM common sense, 

That bites sae sair. 
Be banishM o*er the sea to France, 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and Dairy mple's eloquence,- 

M' ll's close nervous excellence, 

M'Q— e's pathetic manly sense, 

And g-uid M' h, 

VVi' S— th wha thro' the heart can glance- 

May a' pack afP. 



ANSWER TO A 

TRIMMING LETTER FROM A TAYLOR. 

WHAT ails ye no-vv, ye lousie b — h, 
To thresh my back at sic a pitch ? 
Losh man ! hae meiey wi' your natch, 
Your bodkin's bauid. 
did na suffer ha'f sae much 

Frae Daddie Auld. 

What though ^t times when I grow crouSe, 
I gi'e their wames a random pouse, 
Is that enough for you to souse 

Your servant sae ? 
Gae mind your seam, ye prick the louse? 

An* jag the flae. 



ROBERT BURNS. 3)^9 

King David o* poetic brief, 

Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief 

As fiU'd his after life wi* grief 

An* bloody rants, 
An* yet he 's rank'd amang the chief 

O* lang syTie saunts. 

And maybe, Tarn, for a' my cants, 
My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rants, 
I '11 gie auld cloven Clooty's haunts 

An unco slip yet. 
An* snugly sit amang the saunts. 

At Davie's hip yet. 

But fegs, the Session says I maun 

Gae fa' upo' anither plan. 

Than garren lasses cowp the cran 

Clean heals owrc body. 
And sairly thole their mither's ban, 

Afore the howdy. 

This leads me on, to tell for sport, 
How I did wi' the Session sort — 
Auld Clinkum at the Inner port 

Cry'd three times, " Robin I" 
•' Come hither lad, and answer for 't, 

« Ye 're blam'd for jobbin'." 

Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on. 
An' snoov'd awa' before the Session — 
I made an open fair confession, 

I scorn'd to lie ; 
A\\ syne Mess John, beyond expression, 

Fell foul o' me. 

A furnicator loun he call'd me. 

An' said my faiit frae bliss expcll'd me ; 

I own'd the tale was true he tell'd me, 

< But what the matter,' 
Quo* I, * I fear unless ye geld me, 

< I'll ne'er be better.* 



380 



TlTTE POETICAL WORKS 01 



« Geld you I'* quo' he, " and whatfore no, 
" If that your right hand, leg or toe, 
" Should ever prove your sp' ritual foe, . 

" You shou'd remember 
« To cut it aff, an' whatfore no, 

« Your dearest member." 

< Na, na,' quo' I, * I 'm no for that, 

< Gelding 's nae better than *tis ca't, 
^ I'd rather suffer for my faut, 

' A hearty flewit, 
^ As sair owre hip as ye can draw 't ! 

Tho' I should rue it. 

^ Or gin ye like to end the bother, 
« To please us a', I 've just ae ither, 
* When next wi* yon lass I forgather, 

< Whate'er betide it, 
« I '11 frankly gi' her 't a' thegither. 

An' let her guide it.' 

But, Sir, this pleas'd them warst ava, 
An' therefore, Tarn, when that I saw, 
I said * Gude night', and cam awa. 

And left the Session ', 
r saw they were resolved a' 

On my oppression. 



ON MISS J. SCOTT. 



OF ECCLEFECHAN. 

OH ! had each Scot of ancient times, 
Been Jeany Scott, as thou art, 
Tl c bravest heart ori English ground? 
Had yielded like a coward. 



AHE OUBlNATiOM. 

A'or sense they little o\ve to Frugal Heaven.—- 
To please the mob they hide the little giv'n> 

- ILMARNOCK Wabstei'Sj fidge an' cli\W? 

An' pour your ci-eeshie nations i 
■ n' ye wha leather rax ah' draW) 

Of a' denominations i 
■'}with to the Laigfi Kirk) ahe ?ln* a'j 

An' there tak Up your stations j 
Then afif to Begbie^ii in a t-awj 
An' pour divine libaticJnS 

Foi' joy this day* 

Lurst Common^sense, that imp ©* li41| 

Cam in wi' Maggie Laudef j 
Bat O*'^****** aft made hei' yeltj 

An' 1^.***** feair mhcaM het^ i 
Thi»9 ^-ky M'*****^*** takes tha Mil^ 

Aw h§. 'a the bey wlii bli^ud her I 
Hg 'U ekp a ^hm^an on her tail, 

hx^ mi the bairns tq daud her 

WiUUvtthis day, 

Mak haste an' turn king David owre, 

An' lilt wl' holy clangor \ 
O' double verse eome gie us four, 

An' skirl up the Bangor : 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her. 
For Heresy is in her pow'r, 

And gloriously she'll whang her 
Wi' pith this day. 

Come let a proper text be read, 

An' touch it aff wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham leugh at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger ; 
Or Phineas drove the murdering blade- 

W i^ w h -re -ab ho r rin g ri go u r ; 
Pr Zijifiorah^ the scauldin jud. 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

1' th' inn that da-r 



382 THE POETICAL V/ORKS OF 

There, try his mettle on the creed. 

And bind him down \vi' caution, 
That Stifieiicl is a carnal weed 

He taks but for the fashion ; 
And gie him o^er the flock, to feed. 

And punish each transgression ; 
Especial, rams that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin, 

Spare them nae day. 

Now auld Kilmarnock cock thy tail, 

And toss thy horns fu' canty; 
Nae mair thou 'It rowte out-owre the dale- 

Because thy pasture 's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o' gosfiel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 
An' runts 0* grace the pick and Vi'sde^ 

No gi*en by way o* dainty, 

But ilka day. 

Nae mair by BabeVs streafm we *U weep, 

To think upon our Zion $ 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep, 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin : 
Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu* cheeps 

And o'er the thairnis be tryin ; 
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep, 

And a' like lamb-tails flyin 

Fu' fast this day ! 

Lang Patronage^ wi' rod o* airn. 

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin, 
As lately F-niv-ck^ sair forfairn. 

Has proven to its ruin : 
Our Patron, honest man ! Gl********y 

He saw mischief was brewin ; 
And like a godly elect bairn. 

He 's ward us out a true ane, 

And found this day. 

Now R******** harangue nae mair, 

But steek your gab for ever : 
Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 

For there they '11 think you clever ; 



nOBERT BURNS 33^ 



Or, nae reflection on your loar, 
Ye may commence a shaver ;• 

Or to the J^etherton repair, 
And turn a Carpet-wearer 

Aff-hand this day, 

M***** and you were just a match? 

We never had sic twa drones : 
Auld Hornic did the Laigh Kirk watch* 

Just like a winkin baudrons i 
And ay' he catch'd the tither wretch, 

To fry them in his caudrons : 
But now his honour maun detach^ 

\Vi* a' his brimstone squadrons, 

Fast, fast this day» 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 

She ' s swingein thro' the city ; 
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays ! 

I vow its unco pretty : 
There, learning, with his Greekish face, 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gaun, she says. 

To mak to Jamie Beattie 

Her plaint this day. 

But there 's Morality himsel. 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell. 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 

As ane were peelin onions ! 
Now there — they 're packed aff to hell, 

And banish'd our dominions. 

Henceforth this day. 

O happy day I rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come bouse about the porter ? 
^Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quarter : 



gg4 TliFi fQmiQAh W';/K>>> ■ 

|i^<#*#*#***^ H*****j ay.e the boys, 

Th?it Heresy pein torture j 
They 'U gl? her on ^ rape ^ hpysej 

And cow her i-^easyre shorter 

5y th- beeid SQine clay 

Com^j bring the tlther xnutchkhi \xh 

And here 's, for a conclusion, 
To every A(?^j Xz^f/^? mother's !;on.i 

From thi^ time forth, Confiision , 
Jf.mair they df-ave us with their din» 

Or Patronjvge intrusion^ 
We -U light a spunk, and, ^v'ry sKin, 

Wf '?! rin them af In fusion 

].iHe oil, gpipe day. 



THE CALF, 
TO Tim «5;y, MR - 

• ,', Malacht, ch, iv, ver, g. « And tbey shall go fci 
^nd ^rpw up, like calves of the stalL'' 

.HIGHT Sir 1 your textril prove U true,, 

Though Heretics may laugh | 
'For instance ; there's yoursei just noWj 

God knows, an xmco Ca(/\' 

And should some patron b<? so kind. 

As bless you wi* a kivk, 
I doubt na, Sir, but then we Ml And^ 

Yo 'rf' still as great a ^Hrk^ 

)3ut, if the I i0ver*s rapturM hour 

Shall over he yoMr jpt, 
Forbid it, every heavccnly Powfr. 

You e'er should be a Stot / 

Tho' when some kind, eomvabiai Ijcavj 

Yoviv but'and'ben edornsj 
The like has been that you may wear 

A noble head of ^orm^ 



ROBERT BURNS. 385 



And in your lug, most reverend J , 

To hear your roar and rowte, 

Few men o' sense will doubt your claims 
To rank amang the noivte. 

And when ye 're numberM wi' the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head — 

* Here lies a famous Bullock!* 



IMITATION OF AN OLD BALLAD. 



I HAE a wife o' my ain, 
I '11 partake wi* nae-body ; 

I Ml tak cuckold frae nane, 
I '11 gie cuckold to nae-body. 

i hae a penny to spend, 

There — thanks to nae-body ; 

I hae naething to lend, 
I '11 borrow frae nae-body. 

I am nae-body's lord, 

I 'II be slave to nae-body ; 

I hae a gude braid sword, 
I '11 tak dunts frae nae-body. 

I '11 be merry and free, 
I '11 be sad for nae-body ; 

If nae-body care for me, 
I '11 care for nae-body. 



EPITAPH ON D C 

HERE lies in earth a root of Hell, 
Set by the Diel's ain dibble ; 

This worthless body damn'd himsel, 
To save the Lord the trouble* 
L L 



386 I'Hli' POETICAL WORKS OF 

LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE, 

KILMARNOCK, 

ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS. 

O GOUDIE! terror of the Whigs, 
Dread of black coats and rev'rend wigs, 
Soor Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin' looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 

Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, 

Waes me! she *s in a sad condition ; 

Fy, bring Black-Jock, her state physician. 

To see her w-ter ; 
Alas ! there 's ground o' great suspicion 

She Ml ne'er get belter. 

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple. 
But now she 's got an unco ripple. 
Haste, gie her name up i' the chappel, 

Nigh unto deatii ; 
See how she fetches at the ihrapple, 

An' gasps for breath. 

Enthusiasm 's past redemption, 

Gaen in a galloping consumption, 

Not a' the quacks wi' a' their gumption. 

Will ever mend her, 
Her feeble pulse gies btiong presumption, 

Death soon will end her. 

'Tis you and T aylcr are the chief, 
W ha are to btume for this mischief; 
But gin the Lord's uin focks gat leave, 

A toom tar b rrel 
An* twa red peats wad send relief, 

An' end the quarrel. 



KOBERT BURNS. 

ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788. 

A SKETCH. 

FOR lords or kings I dinna mourn, 
E'en let them die — ibr that they 're born^ 
But oh ! prodigious to reflec' ! 
A Tovjmont^ Sirs, is gane to wreck ! 
O Eighty-eighty in thy sma* space 
What dire events ha'e taken place ! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us ! 
In what a pickle thou hast left us I 

The Spanish empire *s tint a head, 
An* my auld teethless Bawtie *s dead ; 
The tulzie 's sair 'tween Pitt and Tox, 
And 'tween our Maggie-s twa wee cocks ; 
The tane is game, a bluidie devil, 
But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
The tither 's something dour o' treadin, 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden — 

Ye ministers come mount the poupit, 
An' cry till ye l)e haerse an' roupet. 
For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel. 
An' gied you a' baith gear an' meal ; 
E'en mony a plack, and mony a peck. 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck I — 

Ye bonie lasses dight your .e'en. 
For some o' you ha'e tint a frien' ; 
In Eighty-eighty ye ken, was ta'en 
What ye '11 ne'er ha'e to gie again. 

Observe the very nowt an' sheep, 
How dowf and daviely they creep ; 
Nay, even the yirth itsel does crv, 
For E'nburgh wells are grutten dry. 

O Eighty-nine, thou 's but a bairn, 
An' no o'er auld, I hope, to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care, 
Thou noV\r has got thy Daddy's chair, 



38; 



1 



388 'I'll^ POETlCxYL WOKKS Or 

Nae hand-cuff'd mizl'd hap-sliackl'd Regent. 
But, like himsel, a full free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
Nae waur than he did, honest man I 
As muckle better as you can. 

THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 

A KEW BALLAD. 

lilRE was the hate at old Harlaw, 

That Scot to Scot did carry ; 
And dire the discord Langside saw, 

For beauteous, hapless Mary : 
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot, 

Or were more in fury seen, Sir, 
Than 'iwixt Hal and Bob for the famous job — 

Who should be FacuUi/s Dean^ Sir.— 

This Hal for genius, wit, and lore, 

Among the first was number'd; 
But pious Bob^ 'mid learning's store, 

Commandment tenth reniember''d,— 
Yet simple Bob the victory got, 

And wan his heart's desire ; 
Which shews that heaven can boil the pot, 

Though the devil p — s in the fire. — 

Squire Hal besides had this in case 

Pretensions rather brassy, 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy ; 
So their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness. 
Chose one who should owe it all d' ye see* 

To their gratis grace and goodness. — 

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sigh* 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Bob'^s purblind mental vision : 



ROBERT BURNS. 389 



Nay, Bobby* 8 mouth may be open'd yet 
Till for eloquence you hailhimj 

And swear he has the Angel met 
That met the ass of Balaam. — 



EPITAPH 

ON A HENPECK'D COUNTRY SQUIRE. 

AS father Adam first was fool'd, 

A case that 's still too common, 
Here lies a man a woman rul'd, 

The devil rul'd the woman. 



EPIGRAM ON SAID OCCASION 

O DEATH, hadst thou but spar'd his life. 

Whom we, this day lament ! 
We freely wad exchanged the ivifey 

An' a been weel content. 



ADDRESS 

TO AN ILLEGITIMATE CHILD. 

THOU 'S welcome wean, mishaater fa' me. 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ever danton me, or awe me, 

My sweet wee lady, 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta or daddy. 

Wee image of my bonny Betty, 
I, fatherly will kiss and dant thee, 
As dear an* near my heart I set thee 

Wi' as gude will 
As a' the priests hath seen me get thee 

That's *' *■ 

L L 3 



390 THE POETICAL- WORKS 01 

What tho* they ca* me fornicator, 
An' tease my name in kihtry clatter : 
The mair they tank I 'm kent the better, 

E'en let them clash : 
An auld wife's tongue 's a feckless matter 

To gie ane fash. 

Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint, 

My funny toil is now a' tint, 

Sin' thou came to the warl asklent, 

Which fools may s> 
In my last plack thy part's be in 't, 

The better ha'f o't. 

An' if thou be what I wad hae thee. 
An' tak the counsel I sail gie thee, 
A lovin' father I '11 be to thee, 

If thou be spar'd ; 
Thro' a' thy childish years I '11 e'e thee, 

An' think 't weel war'd 

Gude grant that thou may ay inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace an' merit, 
An"" thy poor worthless daddy's spirit. 

Without his failins, 
'Twill please me mair to hear an' see 't, 

Than stockct mailens. 



EPITAPH ON A WAG IN ^lAUCHLINF 

LAMENT 'm Mauchline husbands a\ 

He aften did assist ye ; 
For had ye stuid whole weeks awa, 

Your wives they ne'er had miss'd yc 

Ye Mauchline baii*ns, as on ye pass 

To school in bunds thegither, 
O iretid ye lightly on his grass. 

Perhaps he was ycv.r father 



IlOBERT RURNS. 39 1 

LINES 

Written under the picture of the celebrated Miss Burn;^. 

Cease ye prudes, your envious railing-, 

Lovely Burns has charms — confess ; 
True it is, she had one failing, 

Had ae woman ever less ? 



SONG— TUNE— TA6' big helhfd bottle. 

NO churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, 
No sly man of business contriving a snare, 
For a big-belly 'd bottle 's the whole of my care. 

T^ie peer I don't envy, I give him his bow; 

I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low ; 

But a club of good fellows, like those that are here? 

And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 

Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse ; 
There centum per centum, the cit with his purse ; 
But see you-the crown how it waves in the air, 
There a big belly'd bottle still eases my care. 

The wife of my bosom, alas 1 she did die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That a big-belly'd bottle 's a cure for all care. 

I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
A letter inform'd me that all v/as to wreck ; 
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs, 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 

^' Life's cares they are comforts" a maxim laid down 

By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the bl^ck 
gowzi ; 



392 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair ; 
For a big-beliy'd bottle 's a heaven of care. 

J Stanza added in a Mason Lodge. 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow, 
And honours masonic prepare for to throw ; 
May every true brother of th' compass and square 
Have a big belly'd bottle when harass'd with care. 



LINES 

Written on a window, at the King's Arms Tavern, Dumfiic 

YE men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering, 
'Gainst poor Excisemen ? give the cause a hearing ; 

What are your landlords rent-rolls ? taxing ledgers: 
What premiers, what ? even Monarchs mighty gaigers; 

Nay, what are priests ? those seeming godly wisemen : 
What are they pray ? but spiritual Excisemen. 



VERSES TO J. RANKEN, 

AE day, as Death, that grusome carl, 
Was driving to the tither warl' 
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad. 
And mony a gilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and station. 
From him that wears the star and garter, 
To him that wintles in a halter : 
Asham'd himsel to see the wretches, 
He mutters glow'rin at the bitches, 
'* By God I '11 not be seen behint them, 
" Nor *mang the spVitual core present them. 
" Without, at least ae honest man, 
^* To grace this d— ^d infernal clan." 



JiOBERT BURNS. 



By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
*' L — d G'd ! (quoth he) I have it now, 
'' There 's just the man I want, i' faith," 
And quickly stoppit Banken's breath. 



THE KIRK'S iVLARM : A SATIRE. 

ORTHODOX, orthodox, wha believe in John Knox, 
Let me sound an ah.rm to your conscience ; 

There's u heretic blast has been blawn i' the wast, 
That what is no sense must be nonsense. 

Dr. Mac, Dr. Mac, you should stretch on a rack. 

To strike evil doers wi' terror ; 
To join ftiiih and sense upon ony pretence. 

Is heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, it was mad I declare^ 

To meddle wi* mischief a-hre wing ; 
Provost John is still deaf to the church's relief. 

And orator Bob is its ruin, 

Drymple mild, Drymple mild, tho' your heart's like a 
child. 

And your life like the new driven snaw. 
Yet that winna save ye, auld vSatan must have ye, 

For preaching that three's ane and twa. 

Rumble John, Rumble John, mount the steps wi' a groan. 

Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ; 
Then iug out your ladle, deal brimstone like adic, 

And roar every note of the damn'd. 

Simper James, Simper James, leave the fliir Killic 
dames, 

There's a holier chance in your view ; 
I'll lay on your head, that the pack ye'll soon lead. 

For puppies like you there 's few. 

Singct Sawney, Singet Sawney, are yc herding the penny, 

Unconscious what evils await; 
Wi' a jump, yell and howl, alarm every soul, 

For the soul thief is just at your gate. 



394 i'Htl POETICAL WORKS OF 

Daddy Auld, Daddy Auld, there's a tod in the lauld, 

A tod meikle waur than the Clerk ; 
The' ye can do little skaith, ye '11 be in at the death, 

And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark. 

Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster, if for a saint ye do muster,- 

The corps is so nice of recruits ; 
Yet to worth let's be just, royal blood you might boar 

If the ass was the king of the brutes. 

Jamy Goose, Jamy Goose, ye ha'e made but toomroosc 

In hunting the wiched Lieutenant ; 
But the doctor's your mark, for the L — d's haly ark, 

He has cooper'd and cawd a wrang pin in't. 

Poet Willie, Poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volly, 

Wi* your libei'ty'^s chain and your wit ; 
O'er Pegasus' side ye ne'er laid a stride. 

Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh — t. 

Andro Gouk, Andro Gouk, ye may slander the book. 
And the book not the waur let me tell ye ; 

Ye arc rich, and look big, but lay by hat and wig, 
And ye '11 hae a calf's head o' sma' value. 

Barr Steennie, Barr Stecnnie, what mean ye ? what meai 



H 



ye r \ 

If ye '11 meddle nae mair wi' the matter, 
Ye may hae some pretence to bavins and sense, 
Wi' people wlia ken ye nae better. 

Irvine side, Inline side, wi' your turkey-cock pride. 

Of manhood but sma' is your share ; 
Ye've the figure 'lis true, even your face will allow, 

And your friends they dare grant you nae mair. 

Muirland Jock, Muirland Jock, whesn the Lprd makes a 
rock - - -- 

To crush common sense for her sins, 
If ill manners were wit, there 's no mortal so fit 

To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 

Holy Will, Holy Will, there was wit i' your skuli. 

When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor ; 
The timmer is scant, when ye 're ta'en for a saint. 

Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. 



ROBEERT BURNS. 395 

€alvin's sons, Calvin's sons, seize your sp'ritual guns, 

Ammunition you never can need ; 
Your hearts are the stuff, will be powther enough, 

And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, wi' your priest-skelping turns, 

Why desert ye your auld native shire ; 
Your muse is a gipsie, e'en tho' she were tipsiC) 

She cou*d ca' us nae wauj; than we are. 



THE HENPECK'D HUSBAND. 

CURS'D be the man, the poorest wretch in life, 
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife, 
Who has no will but by her high permission ; 
Who has not sixpence but in her possession ; 
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell ; 
Who dreads a curtain-lecture worse than hell. 
Were such the wife had fallen ta my part, 
I 'd break her spirit, or I 'd break her heart ; 
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch, 
I'd kiss her maids, aad kick the perverse b — h. 



EPITAPH FOR 

THOS. H.KENNEDY, NOW OF NEW YORK* 

As Tam the chapman on a day, 

Wi' Death forgether'd by the way, 

Weel pleased, he greets a wight sae famous,. 

And Death was nae less pleas'd wi' Thomas, 

Wha cheerfully lays down the pack, 

And there blaws up a hearty crack, 

His social friendly honest heart, 

Sae tickled Death they could na part, 

Sae after viewing knives an garters 

Death takes him hame to gae him quarters. 

* Mr. Kennedy was formerly a travelling pedlar in Scotland, 
and an intimate friend of our author ; — had been sick when the 
above epitaph was wrote. 



^QQ THE PQBTIC4:L WOR|[S OF 

THE LAND O' THE LEAL. 

THE LAST SONG WRITTEN BY OUR AUTHOR, 
ADDRESSED TO HIS WIFE. 
Tune— -Sj Titty Tattg, 

I *m wearing awa, Jean, 
Like snaw when its thaw Jean, 
I 'm wearing awa, 

To the Land o' the Leal. 

There 's nae sorrow there, Jean, 
There 's nae cauld nor care, Jean, 
The day is ay fair. 

In the Land o' the Leal. 

Ye 've been leal an' true, Jean, 
Your task 's ended now, Jean, 
An* I '11 welcome you, 

To the Land o' the Leal. 

Our bonny bairn's there, Jean, 
She was baith gude an' fair Jean ; 
An' we grudg'd her sair, 

To the Land o' the Leal 

Dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, 

My soul langs to be free, Jean ; 

An' angels wait on me. 

In the Land o' the Leal. 

Then farewel my ain Jean : 
This warld's care *s vain, Jean ; 
We *11 meet an' ay be fain, 

In the Land o' the Leal. 



ROBERT BURNS. 39/ 

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JOjE, 

IMPROVED BY ROBERT BURNS. 

JOHN Anderson, my joe, John, I wonder what you mean, 
To rise so soon in the morning, and sit up so late at e'en, 
Ye*ll blear out a* your e*en, John, and why should you do 

so. 
Gang sooner to your bed at e'en, John Anderson, my joe. 

John Anderson, my joe, John, whan nature first began 
To try her canny hand, John, her master work was man ; 
And you amang them a' John, sae trig frae tap to toe, 
She prov'd to be nae journey-work, John Anderson, my 
joe. 

John Anderson, my joe, John, ye were my first conceit,* 
And ye need nae think it strange, John, tho' L ca' ye trim 

and neat ; 
Tho' some folk say ye 're auld, John, I never think- ye so, 
But I think ye 're ay the same to me, John Anderson my 

joe. 

John Anderson, my joe, John, we *ve seen our bairns' 
bairns. 

And yet, my dear John Anderson, I 'm happy in yo^r 
arms, 

And sae are ye in mine, John — I *m sure ye 'II ne'er say no, 

Tho' the days are gane that we have seen, John Ander- 
son, my oe. 

John Anderson, my joe, John, what pleasure does it gie. 
To see sae many sprouts, John, spring up 'tween you an* 

me, 
And ilka lad and lass, John, in our footsteps to go. 
Make perfect heaven here on earth, John Anderson, my 

joe. 



398 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

John Anderson, my joe, John, >vhen we were first Ac- 
quaint, 

Your locks were like the raven, your bonnie brow was 
brent, 

But now your head 's tum'd bald, John, your locks are 
like the snow, 

Yet, blessing on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my joe. 

John Anderson my joe, John, frae year to year we 've past, 
And soon that year maun come, John, will bring us to 

our last : 
^ut let na that affright us, John, Our hearts were ne'er 

our foe. 
While in innocent delight we liv'd, John Anderson, my 

joe. 

John Anderson, my joe, John, we clamb the hill thegither. 
And mony a canty day, John, we've had wi' ane anither; 
Now we maun totter down, John, but hand in hand we '11 

go, 
And we '11 sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, m.y 
joe. 



GLOSSARY. 

I'lIE ch and ffh have always the guttural sound. The sound of 
the English dipthong ooy is commonly spelled ou. The French 
u, a sound which often occurs in the Scottish language, is mark- 
ed, 00 or ui. The a in genuine Scottish words, except when 
forming a dipthong, or followed by an e mute after a single 
consonant, sounds generally like the broad English a in -walL 
The Scottish dipthong ae, always, and ea, very often, sound 
like the French e masculine. The Scottish dipthong e^, sounds 
like the Latin ei. 



A', All Amang, among 

Aback, away, aloof An', and, if 

Abeigh, at a shy distance Ance, once 

Aboon, above, up Ane, one 

Abread, abroad, m sight Anent, over against 

Ae, one Anither, another 
Aff, off; Aff hof, off hand, un- Ase, ashes 

premeditated Asklent, asquint, slanting 

Afore, before Asteer, abroad, stirring 

Aft, oft Athort, athwart 

Aften, often Aught, as in a' my au^hl, in all 
Agley, off the right line, wrong my possession 

Aiblins, perhaps Auld, old 

Ain, own Auldfarran, or auld farrant, sa- 

Airn, iron gacious, cunning, prudent 

Airl-penny, earnest-money Avild lang syne, long ago, in for- 

Aith, an oath mer times 

Aits, oats Ava, at all 

Aiver, an old horse Awa', away 
Aizle, a small spark of fire, a Awfu', awful 

hot cinder Awn, the beard of barley, oats 

Alake, alas &c. 

Alane, alone Awnie, bearded 

Akwart, aukward Ayont, behind 

B 

Ba', ball Bairntime, a family of children 

Uacklins, comiu*, coming back, a brood 

returning Baith, both 

Bad, did bid Ban, to swear, a minced oath 

Baide, endured, did stay Bannock, a kind of thick cake of 

Baggie, the belly bread 

Bainie, having large bones, stout Bane, bone 
Bairn, a child Bang, to beat, to strive 



400 

Bardie, diminutive of bard Blaud, a larg-e piece of any thing-, 

Barefit, barefooted a slap with tlie hand 

Barmie, of, or like barm or yest Baudin' driving like a snow 

Batch, a crew, a gang* storm 

Batts, botts, a disease in horses Blaw, to blow, to boast 

Baudrons, a cat Bleezing, blazing 

Bauld, bold Bleert and Blln, bleered and 

Bawk, bank, a narrow stripe of blind 

grass between ploughed lands, Bleerit, bleered, rheum in the 

or ridges eyes 

Uaws'nt, havmg a white stripe Blellum, idle talking fellow 

down the face Blether, to talk idly nonsense 

Bear, barley Bleth'rin, talking idly 

Beastie, diminutive of beast Blink, a quick smiling g-lance o 

Beet, to add fuel to fire the eye, to shine by fits 

Beld, bauld headed Blinker, a term of contempt 

Belyve, bye and by Biiukin*, smirking 

Ben, into the parlour BUnuie, snivelling 

Benlomond, a noted mountain Blue gown, one of those beggars 
Bethankit, an expression of who get annually on the king's 

thankfulness birth-day, a blue cloak or 

Beuk, a book gown, and badge, which gives 

Bicker, a kind of wooden dish, them credit with the public 

a sliort race Blude, blood 

Bield, shelter Blype, a shred, a large piece 

Eien, snug, wealthy, plentiful Bock, to vomit, to gush inter^ 
Big, to build m ittently 

Biggin, building, a house Bocked, gushed, vomited 

Biggit, built Bodle, a small cogpcr coin 

Bill, a bull Bonnie, or bonny, handsome, 

Billie, a brother, a young fellow beautiful 
Bing, a heap of grain, pota- Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins 

toes, &c. Boor-tree, the shrub-elder 

Birk, birch Boost, an instrument for mark- 

Birkie, a waggish clever fellow ing sheep or cattle &c. with 
Birring, the noise of partridges, the owner's cypher, or other 

he. when they spring mar-k 

'8irk:n-Shaw, Birchen-Wood, To Boost with, verb active of 

from Birch a tree, and Shaw boose, a penn or stall for cat- 

a small wood tie, &.C. 

B'iUjiist at the bit, crisis, nick of Botch, an angry tumour 

time Bousing, drinking 

Bizz, a bustle, to buzz Bouk, vomiting, gushing 

Blastie, a shrivelled dwarf, a Bow-kail, cabbage 

term of contempt Bowt, bended, crooked 

Blastit, blasted Brackens, fern 

Blate, bashful, sheepish Brae, a declivity, a precipice, 

Blather, bladder the slope of a hill 



401 



Braid, Broad 
Braik, u kind of harrow 
Brainge, to run rashly forward 
Braig-n't, reeled forward 
Brak, broke made insolvent 
Branks, a kind of wooden curb 



Brust, to burst, burst 
Buchan-buUers, the boiling' oi 

the sea amonj^ the rocks cai 

the coast of Buchan 
Buckskin, an inhabitant of Vir^ 

ginia 



for horses Bughtin-time, the time of col- 

Brash, a sudden illness lecting the sheep in the pens 

Brats, coarse clothes, rags, &c. to be milked 
Brattle, a short race, hurry, furyBught, a pen 
Braw, fine, handsome Buirdly, stout made, broad built 

Bravvlyt, or brawlie, very well, Bum-clock, a humming beetle 

finely, heartily that flies in the summer even- 

Braxie, decease in sheep ings 

Breastie, dimin. of breast Bumming, humming as bees 

Breastit, did spring up or for- Bum mle, to blunder 

ward Bummler, a blunderer 

Breef, an invulnerable or irre- Bunker, a window seat 



sistible spell 
Breeks, breeches 
Brent, smooth 
Brewin, brewing 
Brie, juice, liquid 
Brig, a bridge 
Brunstane, brimstone 
Brisket, the breast, the bosom 
Brither, a brother 
Brock, a badger 
Brogue, a hum, a trick 
Broo, broth, liquid, water 



Burdies, dimin. of birds 

Bure, did bear 

Burnewin, i. e. burn the wind, a 
blacksmith 

Burnie, dimin. of burn 

Burn, or Burnie, a water, a rivu- 
let 

Buskie, bushy 

Buskit, dressed 

Busle, a bustle, to bustle 

Buss, a bush 

But, bot, without 



Broase, a race at country wed- But an' ben, the country kitchen 

dings and parlour 

Brugh, a bui'gh By himself, lunatic, distracted 

Bruizie, a broil, a combustion Byke, a bee-hive 
Brunt, did burn, burnt Byre, a cow house 



c 



CA', to call to name, to drive Calf-ward, a small enclosure for 
Ca't or Ca'd, called, driven, calves 



calved 
Cadger, a carrier 
Cadie, or caddie, a person 

young fellow 
Caff, chaff 
Caird, a tinker 
Cairn^ a loose heap of stones 



Callan, a boy 
Caller, fresh sound, refreshing 
a Cannie, gentle, mild, dextrous 
Cannilie, dextrously, gently 
Cantie, or Canty, cheerful, rpei:- 

ry 
Cantraip, a charm, a spell 



Mm2 



402 

Cap-stanc, cope stone, key stone Clislimaclaver, idle conversation 
Careerin, the act of making nier- Clock, to hatch, a beetle 

ry Clockin, hatchins^ 

Carl, an old man Cloot, the hoof of a co^ 

Carlin, a stout old woman sheep, &c. 

Cartes, cai'ds Clootie, the Devil, commonly re- 

Caudron, a caldron presented cloven-footed 

Cauk and keel, chalk and red Clour, a bump or swelling after 

clay a blow 

Cauld, cold Cluds, clouds 

Caup a wooden 'rinking- vessel Coaxin, wheedling" 
Cesses, taxes, Coble, a fishing' boat 

Chanter; apart of a bagpipe Cockernony, a lock of hair tied 
Chap, a person, a fellow, a blow upon a girl's head, a cap 
Chaup, a stroke, a blow Coft, bought 

Cheekit, cheeked Cog, a wooden dish 

Cheep, a chirp, to chirp Coggie dimin. of cog 

Chiel, or cheel, a young fellow Coila, from Kyle, a district of 
Chimla, or chimlie, a fii-egrale, Ayrshire, so called, suith tra- 

fire place dition, from Coil, or Coilus, a 

Chimla-lug, the fire-side Pictish monarch 

Chitiering, shivering, trembling Collishangie, quarreling 
Chockin, choakmg Collie, a certain species of dogs 

Chow, to chew ; cheek fov chow, Commaun, command 

side by side Cood, the cud 

ChufHe, fat fuced Coof, a blockhead a ninny 

Clach.ji, s small village about a Cookit, appeared, and disappear- 

church, a hamlet ed by fits 

Claise, or claes, cloaths Coost, did cast 

Claith, cloth Coot, the ankle or foot 

Claithing, cloathing Cootie, a wooden kitchen dish — 

Claivers, nonsense, not speaking also those fowls vjhose legs are 

sense clad 'with feathers are said to be 

Clap, clapper of a mill coolie 

Clarkii, wrote Corbies, a species of the crow 

Clash, an idle tale, the story of Core, corps, party, clan 

the day Corn't, fed with oats 

Clatter, to tell Utile stories, an Cotter, the inhabitant of a cot- 

idle story hotise or cottage 

Clar i^ht saatched at, laid hold of Couthie, kind, loving 
Claut, to clean, to scrape Cove, a cove 

Ciauted, scraped Cowe, to terrify, to keep under, 

claw, to scratch to lop ; a fright, a branch of 

clad, cloaihed furze, broom, &c. 

Cleckii, having caught Cowp, to barter, to tumble over, 

Clinkin, jerking-, clinking a gang 

Clinkumbell, who rings the Cowpit, tumbled 

church bell Cow'r, cower, to stoop under a 

Clips, sheers shelter 



40*3 

Cowrin, shrinking with fear Crously, cheerfully, courage- 
Cowte, a colt ously 

Cozie, anug Crowclie, a composition of oat- 

Cozily, snugly meal, and cold water 

Crabbit crabbed, fretful Crowdietime, breakfast time, as 

Crack, conversation, to converse we say mush-time, when some- 
Cracking,- conversing thing better than mush is ex- 
Craft, or croft, a field near a pected 

house, in old Jmsbandry Crowlin, crawling 

Craiks, cries or calls incessantly, Crummock, a cow with crooked 

a bird horns 

Crambo-clink, or crambo-jingle. Crump, hard and brittle, spoken 

rhymes, doggrel verses of bread 

Crank, the noise of an ungreasedCrunt, a blow on the head with 

wheel a cudgel 

Crankons, fretful, captious Culf, a blockhead, a ninny 

Cranreuch, the hoar frost Cummock, a short stafF'with a 

Crap, a «rop, to crop crooked head 

Craw, a crow of a cock, a rook Curchie, a curtsey 
Creel, a basket; to have o?ie'5 Curler, a player at a game on 

-ivits in a creel, to be craz'd, to the ice, practised in Scotland 

be fascinated called curling 

Creeshie, g-reasy Curlie, curled, whose hair falls 

Crood, or croud, to coo as a naturally in ringlets 

dove _ Curling a well known game on ice 

Croon, a hollow and continued Curmurring, murmuring, a sliglit 

moan ; to make a noise like rumbling noise 

the continued roar of a bull ; Gurpin, a crupper 

to hum a tune Cushat, the dove, or wood pi- 

Crooning, humming geon 

Crouchie, crook-backed Cutty, short, a spoon broken in 

Crouse, cheerful, courageous the middle 

D 

X)ADDIE, a father Davoc, David 

Daffin, merriment, foolishness Dawd, a large piece 

Daft, merry, giddy, foolish Uawtit, or dawtet, fondled, ca*. 

Daimen, rare, now and then, dai- ressed 

7ne7i-icker, an ear of corn now Dearies, dimin. of dears 

and then Dearthfu', dear 

Dain y, pleasant, good humour- Deave, to deafen 

ed, agreeable Deil-ma-care ! no matter ! for all 

Dales, plains, vallies that ! 

Darkhns, darkling Deleerit, delirious 

Daud, to thrash, to abuse Descrive, to describe 

Daur, to dare Dight, to wipe, to *clean corn 

Daurt, dared from chaff 

Daurg, or daurk, a day's laboor Dight, cleaned from chaff 



404 

Blnna, do not Downa, am or are not able, can 

Ding-, to worst, to push not 

Dirl, a slight tremulous stroke Doylt, stupid 

or pain Drap, a drop, to drop 

Dizzen, or diz'n, a dozen Drapping, dropping 

Doited, stupified, Dreep, to ooze to drop 

Dolt, stupified, crazed Dreigh, tedious, long about \i 

Donsie, weakness in body or Driddle, drizzling, slaver 

mind Drift, a drove 

Dool, sorrow, fo sinj dool, to la- Droddum, the breech 

ment, to mourn Drone, part of a bag-pipe 

Doos, doves Droop, rumpl't, that droops at 

Dorty, saucy, nice the crupper 

Douce, or douse, sober, wise, Droukit, wet 

prudent Draunting, drawling 

Doucely, soberly, prudently Drouth, thirst, drought 
Dought, was or were able Drucken, drunken 

Doup, backside Drumly, muddy 

Doup-skelper, one that strikes Drummock, meal and water, 

the tail mixed raw 

Doure, stout, durable, stubborn, Drunt, pet, sour humour 

sullen Dub, a small pond 

Dour and din, sullen, and slow Duds, rags, clothes 
Douser, more prudent Duddie, ragged 

Dow, am or are able, can l^^'ng's worsted, pushed, driven 

DowfF, pithless, wanting force Dunl, boxt 
Dowie, worn with grief fatigue, Dush, to push at a ram, &c 

&c. half asleep Dusht, pushed by a ram, ox, £i^ 

E 

E'E, the eye En*, end 

Een, the eyes Enbrugh, Edinburgh 

E'enen, evening Eneugh, enough 
Eerie, frighted, dreading spirits Especial, especially 

Eild, old age Ettle, to try, attempt 

Elbuck, the elbow Eydent, diligent 
Eldritch, ghastly, frightful 



FA', fall, lot to fall Fairin, a fairing, a present 

Fa's, does fall, watei-falls Fallow, fellow 

Faddom*t fathomed Fund, did find 

Fae, a foe Farl, a cake of bread 

Faem, foam Fash, trouble, care, to trouble; 

Faiket, unknown to care for 



405 



Fasht, troubled 
Fastereen-een, Fasten's Even 
Fould, a fold, to fold 
Faulding, folding 
Faut, fault 

Fawsont, decent, seemly 
Feal, a turf or sod 
Fearfu' frightful 
Fear'i, frighted 
Feat, neat, spruce 
Fecht, to fight 
Fechtin, fighting 
Feck, many, plenty 
Fecket, waistcoat 
Feckfu', large, brauny, stout 
Feckless, puny, weak, silly 
Feckly, weakly 
a fig 



Fletherin, flattering 
Fley, to scare, to frighten 
Flichter, to flutter, as young 
nestlings, when their dam ap-» 
proaches 
Flickering, to meet, to encount- 
er with 
Flinders, sherds, broken pieces 
Flingin-tree, a piece of timber 
hung by way of partition be- 
tween two horses in a stable, 
a flail 
Flisk, to fret at the yoke 
Fliskit, fretted 
Flitter, to vibrate like the wings 

of jSmall birds 
Flittering, fluttering, vibrating 
Flunkie, a servant in ILvery 
Foord, a ford 



Feg, _ 

Feide, feud, enmity 

Fell, keen, biting ; the flesh Im- Forbears, forefathers 

mediately under the skin, a Forbye, besides 

field pretty level, on the side Forfairn, distressed, worn out, 

or top of a hill jaded 

Fend, to live comfortably Forfoughten, fatigued 

Fen, subsisting with some difl^- Forgather, to meet, to encount- 

culty er with 

Fell, soft smooth Forgie, to forgive 

Ferlie, or ferly, to wonder ; a Forjesket, jaded with fatigue 

wonder, a term of contempt Fother, fodder 
Fetch, to bring Fou', full, drunk 

Fetch't, brought, or did bring Foughten, troubled, harrassed 
Fidge, to fidget Fouth, plenty, enough, or more 

Fient, fiend, a petti/ oath than enough 

Fier, sound, healthy ; a brother, Fow, a bushel, &c. also a pitch- 

a friend fork 

Fisle, to make a rustling noise, Frae, from 

to fidget, a bustle Freath- froth 

Fit, a foot Frien', friend 

Fittie-lan, the near horse of the Fu' full 

hindni ist pair in the plough Fud, the scut, or tail of the hare. 
Fizz, to make a hissing noise, cony, &c. 

like fermentation Faff, to blow 

Fhiinen, flannel Fuff't, did blow 

Fleech, to supplicate in a flatter- Funnie, full of merriment 



ing manner 
Fleechin, supplicating 
Fleech'd, supplicated 
Fleesh, a fleece 
Fleg, a kick, a random blow 



Fur, a furrow 

Furm, a form, bench 

Fyke, trifling cares ; to piddle, 

to be in a fuss about trifles 
Fyle, to soil, to dirty 



Flether, to decoy by fair words Fyl't, soiled, dirtied 



400 

G 

GAB, the moutli, to speak bold- Glaizie, glittering, smooth like 

ly, or pertly a glass 

Gaber-lunzie, an old man Glaum'd, aimed, snatched 

Gadsma, plough-boy, the boy Gleek, sharp, ready 

that drives the horses in the Gleib, glebe 

plough Glen, dale, deep, ralley 

Gae, to go ; gaed, went ; gaen, Gleg, sharp, i-eady 

gane, gone, going Gley, a squint, to squint ! off 

Gaet or gate, way, manner, road a side, wrong 
Gang, to go, to walk Glig-gabbet, that speaks smooth - 

Gar, to make, to force to 1 y and readily 

Gar't, forced to Glint, to peep 

Garten, a garter Glinted, peeped 

Gash, wise, sagacious, talkative Glintin, peeping 

to converse Gloamin, the twilight 

Gashin, conversing Glowr, to stare, to look, a stare, 

Gaucy, jolly, large a look 

Gear, riches, goods of any kind Glowred, looked, stared 
Geek, to toss the head in wan- Gowan, wild daisy 

tonness, or scorn Gowany glens, daisied, dales 

Ged, a pike Gowd, gold 

Gentles, great folks GowfF; to strike as the bat does 

Geordie, a guinea the ball, at golf 

Get, a child, a young one Gowff'd, struck 

Ghaist, a ghost Gowk, a cuckoo, a term of con 

Gie, to give ; gied, gave ; gien, tempt 

given Gowl, to howl 

Giftie,dimin. of gift Grane, or grain, a groan, , 

Giglets, playful girls groan 

Gilie dimin. of gill Grain'd, groaned 

Gilpey, a half grown, half in- Graining, groaning 

formed boy or^irl, a romping Grained and Gaunted, groaned, 

lad, a hoyden and grunted 

Glmmer, an ewe from one to two Graip, a dung-fork 

years old Graith, harness for draught cat- 

Gin, if, against tie 

Gipsey, a travelling vagabond, Grannie, grandmother 

term of contempt Grape, to grope 

Girn, to grin, to twist the fea- Grapit, groped 

tures in rage, agony, &c. Grat, wept, shed tears 

Girning, grinning Grat, intimate, familiar 

Gizz, a periwig Gree, to agree ; to bear the 

Glaikit, inattentive, foolish gree, to be decidedly victor 

Glaive, a sword Grec't, agreed 

Gawky, half witted, fooUish Greetin, crying, weeping 



407 

Gripetj catched, seized Guid, good 

Groat, four pence sterling Guid-mornin, good movrow 

Grounsome, loathsomely, grim Guid-ee'n, good evening 

Grozet, a goosberry Guidman and guidwife, the mas- 

Grumph, a grunt, to grunt ter and mistress of the house ; 

Grumphie, a sow young guidman, a man newly 

Grun's ground married 

Grunstane, a grindstone Guidfather, Guidmother, father- 

Gruntle, the phiz, a grunting in-law, and mother-in-law 

noise Gulravage, running in a confus- 

Grunzie, mouth ed manner, like boys when 

Grushie, thick, of thriving leaving school 

growth Gully, or gullie, a large knife 

GuDE, THE SUPREME BEING ; Gumlie, muddy 

good Gusty, tasteful 

H 

IIA* hall Han*, or Haun, hand 

Ha' bible, the great bible that Hap, an outer garment, mantle, 

lies in the hall plaid, &c. 

Hae, to have to wrap, to cover, to hap 

Haen, had the participle Happer, hopper 

Hact, fient head, a petty oath, Happmg, hopping 

of negation, nothing Hap step an' loup, hop skip and 

Haffet, the temple, the side of leap ^ 

the head Harkit, hearkened 

IlafRins nearly half, partly Harn, very coarse linen 

Hag, a scar, or ;gulf in mosses Hash, a fellow that neither 

and moors knows how to dress nor act 

Haggis, a kind of pudding boil- with propriety 

ed in the stomach of a cow or Hastit, hastened 

sheep Haud, to hold 

Hain, to spare, to save Haughs ; low lying, rich lands.; 

Hain'd spared valleys 

Hairst, harvest Haurl, to drag, to peel 

Haith, a petty oath Haurlin, peeling 

Haivers, nonsense, speaking Haverel, a half-witted person, 

without thought half-witted 

Hal', or hald, an abiding place Havins, good manners, decorum 
Hale, whole, tight, healthy with good sense 

Hame, home Hawkie, a cow, properly one 

Hallan, a partition wall in a cot- with a white face 

tage Heapit, heaped 

Hallowmas, Hallow-eve, the 31st Healsome, healthful, wholesome 

of October Hearse, hoarse 

Haly, holy Hear't, hear it 

Hamely, homeljr, affable Heather, heath 



408 

Hech ! oh ! strang-e Hog-shoiither, a kind of horse 

Hecht, promised, or making one play, by josUing with the 

to expect shoulder; to jostle 

Hecht, offered Hool, outer skin or case, a nu"^ 

Heckle, a well known instru- shell, pease swad 

ment for dressing hemp or Hoolie, slowly, leisurely 

flax Hoolie ! take leisure, stop 

Heeze, to elevate, to raise Hoord, a hoard ; to hoard 

Helm, the rudder or helm Hoordet hoarded 

Herd, to tend flocks, one who Horn, a spoon made of horn 

tends flocks Hornie, one of the many names 

Herrin, a herring of the devil 

Kerry, to plunder, most properly Host, or hoast, to cough 

to plunder birds nests Hostin, coughing 

Herryment, plundering devasta- Hotch'd, turned topsey-turvc; 

tion blended, mixed 

Ilersel, herself, also a herd of Houghmagandie, fornication 

cattle, of any sort Houlet, or Howlet, an owl 

Het, hot Housie, dimin. of liouse 

Heugh, a crag, a coal-pit Hove, to heave, to swell 

Hilch, a hobble, to halt Hov'd, heaved, swelled 

Hilchi«i halting Howdie, a midwife 

Himsel, himself Howe, hollow, a hollow or dell 

Hing, to hang Howebackit sunk in the back 

Hiney, honey spoken of a horse, See. 

Hirple, to walk crazily, to creep Howfl*, a place of resort 
Hirsel, so many cattle as one Howk, to dig 

person can attend Howkit, digged 

JUslie, dry, chapt, barren Howkin, digging 

Hitcht, a loop, a knot Hoy, to urge 

Hizzie, hussy, a young girl Hoy't, urged 

Hoddin, humble dress Hoyse, a pull upwards 

Hoddin Gray, a kind of coarse Hoyte, to amble crazily 

clotli Hughoc, dimin. of Hugh 

Hog-score, a kind of distance Hurcheon, a hedgehog 

line, in curling, drawn across Hurdies the lions, the crupper 

the rink Hushion, cushion 



I', in niggardly 

Icker, an ear of com Inginc, genius, ingenuity 

ler-oe, a great grand-child Ingle, fire, fire-place 

Ilk, or Ilka, each, every Ise, I shall or will 

Ill-willie,illnatured, maliciously, Ither, other, one another 



409 



J AD, Jade ; also a familiar term a sudden turning, a corner 
among country folks for a gid- Jinker, that turns quickly, a gay 
dy young girl sprightly girl, a wag 

Jauk, to dally, to trifle Jinkin, dodging 

Jaukin, trifling, dallying Jirt, a jerk 

Jaup, a jerk of water ; to jerk Jocteleg, a folding knife 

as agitated water Jouk, to stoop, to bow the head 

Jaw, coarse raillery, to pour out, to 

to shut, to jerk as water Jow, to jow, a verb which in- 

Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl eludes both the swinging mo- 

Jimp, to jump, slender in the tion und pealing sound of a 

waist, handsome large bell 

Jink, to dodge, to turn a corner, Jundie, to justle 

K 

KA.E, a daw Kintra-cooser, country stallion 

Kail, colewort, a kind of broth Kirn, the harvest supper, a churn 
Kail-runt, the stem of colewort Kirsen, to christen, to baptize 
Kain, fowls, Sec. paid as rent by Kist, chest, a shop, counter 

a farmer Kitchen, any thing that eats 

Kebbuck, a cheese with bread, to serve for soup, 

Keek, a peep, to peep gravy, &c. 

Kelpies, a sort of mischievous Kith, knidred 

spirits, said to haunt fords. Kittle, to tickle, ticklish, diflJ- 

and ferries at night, especially cult 

in storms Kittlin, a young cat 

Ken, to know, kend or ken't, Kuittle, a kind embrace, to hug 

knew Kuittlin eiTibracing, hugging 

Kenuin, a small matter Knaggie, like knags, or points 

Kenspeckle, well known of rocks 

Ket, carrion of any kind Knappin, hammer, a hammer for 

Kiaugh. carking, anxiety breaking stones 

Kilt, to truss up the clothes Knowe, a small round hillock 
Kimmer, a young girl, a gossip Kauri, dwarf 
Kin', kindred Kye, cow 

Km', kind Kyle, a district in Ayrshire 

King's-hood, a certain part of Kyte, the belly 

the entrails of an ox, &;c, Kythe to discover, to shew one's 
Kintra, country self 



LADDIE, dimin. of lad side and bottom of a woodea 

Laggen, the angle between the dish 

Nn 



4iO 



Laigb, low 

Lairing- wading- and sinking in 
snow, mud, &c. 

Laitb, loath 

Laithfu', bashful, sheepish 

Lallans, Scottish dialect 

Lambie» dimin. of lamb 

Limpit, a kind of shellfish 

Lan', land, estate 

Lane, lone, my lane, thy lane, he. 
myself alone 

Lanely, lonely 

Lang, long-, to think lang-, to 
long-, to wear\ 

Lap, did leap 

Lave, the rest, the remainder, 
the others 

I>averock, the lark 

Lawlan, lowland 

Lawn, shot, reckoning bill 

Lea'e, to leave 

Leal, loyal, true faithful 

L- ar, lare, learning 

Lea-rig, grassy ridge 

Leesome, pleasant 

Lse-lang, live-long 

Leeze me, a phrase of congratu- 
latory endearment, I am hap- 
py in thee, or proud of tliee 

Leister, a gig, or three prong'd 
barb'd dart for striking fishes 

Leugh, did laugh 

Leuk, a look, to look 

Libbet, gelded 

Lift, sky 

Liglitly, sneeringly, to sneer at 



Lilt, a ballad, a tune, to sing 
Limmer, a kept mistress, a 

strumpet 
Limp't, hmped, hobbled 
Link, to trip along 
Linkin, tripping 
Linn, a waterfall 
Linn, a precipice 
Lint, flax, lint i' the bell, flax in 

flower 
Lintwhite, a linnet 
Loan, or loanin, the place of 

milking 
Loof, the palm of the hand 
Loot, did let 
Looves, plural of loof 
Loun, a fellow ; a ragamuffin, a 

woman of easy virtue 
Loup, jump, leap 
Lowe, a flame 
Lowin, flaming 
Lowrie, abbreviation of Law 

rence 
Lowse, to loose 
Lows'd, loosed 
Lug, the ear, a handle 
Lugget, having a handle 
Luggie, a small wooden dish 

with a handle 
Lum, the chimney 
Lunch, a large piece of cheese, 

flesh, &c. 
Lunt, a column of smoke, to 

smoke 
Luntin, smoaking 
Lyart, of a mixed colour, grey 



M 



MAE, more in number 

Mailen, farm 
Mair, more in quantity 
Maist, most, almost 
Maistly, mostly 
Mak, to make 
Makin, making 
Mallie, Molly 
JMang, among 



Manse, the parsonage house, 
whei'e the minister lives 

Manteele, a mantle 

Mark, marks. This and several 
other nouns which in English 
require an s, to form the plu- 
ral, are in Scotch, like the 
words sheep, deer, the same 
in both numbers 



411 



aiar's year, the year, 1715 Miiid't, mind it, resolved, iu- 

Mashlum, meslin, mixed corn tending * ■ 

Mask, to mash as malt, &c. Minnie, mother, dam 



Maskin-pat, a tea-pot 
Maukin, a hare 
Maun, must 
Mavis, the thrush 
Maw, to mow 
Mawin, mowing 
Meere, a mare 
Meickle much 
Melancholious, mournful 



Mirk, or mirkest, dark, darkest 

Misca, to abuse, to call names 

Misca'd, abused 

Mislear'd, mischievous, unman- 
nerly 

Misteuk, mistook 

Mither, a mother 

Mixtie-maxtie, confusedly mix- 
ed 



Melder, corn, or grain of any Moi stify; to moisten 
kind sent to the mill to be Mony, or monie, many 
ground Moop, to nibble as a sheep 

Mell, to meddle. Also a mallet Moorlan, of or belonging to 
for pounding barley in a stone moors 

trough Morn, the next day, to-morrow 

Melvie, to soil with meal Mou, the mouth 

Men', to mend Moudiwort, a mole 

Mense, good manners, decorum Mousie, dimin. of mouse 
Menseless, ill-bred, rude, impu- Muckle, or mickle, great, big, 

dent much 

Messin, a small dog Musie, dimin. of muse 

Midden, a dunghill Muslin-kail, broth composed 

Midden,-hole, a gutter at the simplyof water, shelled barley 

bottom of a dunghill and greens 

Mim, prim, affectedly Mutchkin, an English pint 

Min', mind, remembrance Mysel, myself 



N 



NA', No, not, nor 

Nae, no, not any 

Naething, or naithing, nothing 

Naig, a horse 

Nane, none 

Nappy, ale, to be tipsy 

Negleckit, neglected 

Neebor, neighbour 

Neuk, nook 

Neives, or Nieve, fists 

Niest, next 



Nievefu*, handful 

NifFer, an exchange, to exchange, 

to barter 
Niger, a negro 

Nine-tailed-cat, hangman's whip 
Nit, a nut 
NorUnd, of or belonging to the 

north 
Noise 't, noticed 
Nowte, black cattle 



412 



o 

0% Of Oursel, or oursels, ourselves 

Ochels, name of mountains Outlers, cattle not housed 

O haith, O faith 1 an oath Ovver, over, too 

Ony, or onie, any Ower-hip, a way of fetching a 

Or, is often used for ere, before blow with the hammer over 

O't, of it the arm 

Ourie, shivering, drooping 



PACK, intimate, familiar, twelve Plackless, pennyless, without 

stone of wool money 

Painch, a tripe Platie, dimin. of plate 

Paitrick, a partridge Plew, or pleugh, a plough 

Pang, to cram Pllskie, a trick 

Parlie, speech Poind, to seize on cattle, or take 

Parritch, oatmeal pudding a well the goods, as the laws of 

known Scotch dish * Scotland allow for rent 

Pat, did put, a pot Poortith, poverty 

Pattle, or pettle, a plough-staff Pou, to pull 
Paughty, proud, haughty Pouk, to pluck 

Paiiky, or pawkie, cunning, sly Poussie, a hare, or cat 
Pay't, paid, beat Pout, a polt, a chick 

Fech, to fetch the breath short, Pou't, did pull 

as in an asthma Pouthery, like powder 

Pechan, the crop, the stomach Pow, the head, the skull 
Peelin, peeling Pownie, a little horse 

Pet, a domesticated sheep, Etc. Powther, or pouther, powder 
Philibegs, short petticoats worn Preen, a pin 

by the Highlandmen Prent, printing 

Phraise, fair speeches, flattery, Prie, to taste 
to flatter - Prie'd, tasted 

Phraisin, flattery Prief, proof 

Pickle, a small quantity Pi'ig, to cheapen, to dispute 

Pine, pain uneasiness ' .^ Priggin, cheapening 
Pit, to put "".^ Primsie, demure, precise 

Placad, a public proclama^n, to Propone, to lay down, to pro- 
publish publicly pose 
Plack, an old Scotch coin, the Proveses, provosts 
3d part of a Scotch penny, ISPund, pound, pounds 
of which make an English Pyle, a pyle o' caff, a single 
penny grain of chaff. 



413 



QUAT, to quit 
Quak, to quake 



Quey, a cow from one to two 
years old 



R 



RAGWEED, herb ragwort Restrickecl, restricted 

Raible, to rattle nonsense Rew, repent 

Rair, to roar Rief, Reef, plenty 

Raize, to madden, to inflame Rief randies, sturdy beggars 

Ram-feezl'd, disordered by over- Rig, a ridge 

fatigue Rin, to run, to melt ; rinin, run- 

Ram-stam, thoughtless, forward ning 
Raploch, properly a coarse cloth, Rink, the course of the stones, a 

but used as an adnoun for term in curling on ice 

coarse Rip, a handful of unthreshed 

Rarely, excellently, very well corn 
Rash, a rush, rash-buss, a bush Riskit, made a noise like the 

of rushes - tearing of roots 

Ration, a rat Rood, stands likewise for the 

Raucle, rash, stout, fearless plural roods 



R aught, reached 

Haw, a row 

Rax. to stretch 

Rax'd, stretched 

Ream, cream, to cream 

Rcamin, brimful, frothing 

Reave, rove 

Reck, to heed 

Rede, counsel, to counsel 



Roon, a shred 

Roose, to praise, to commend 

Roun', round, in the circle of 

neighbourhood 
Roupet, hoarse, as with a cold 
Routhie, plentiful 
Routh o' gaer, plenty of goods 
Runkled, wrinkled 
Row, to roll, to wrap 



Red-wat-shod, walking in blood Rovv't, rolled, wrapped 



over the shoe tops 
Red-wud, stark mad 
Ree, half drunk, fuddled 
Reek, smoke 
Reekin, smoking 
Reekit, smoked, smoky 
Remead, remedy 
Requite, requited 
Rest, to stand restive 
Restit, stood restive, stunted, 

^'ilhered 



Rowte, to low to bellow 

Rowth, plenty 

Rowtin, lowing 

Rozet, rosin 

Rung, a cudgel 

Runt, the stem of colwort or 

cabbage 
Runkled, wrinkled 
Ruth, a woman's name, the book 

so called ; sorrow 



Nn 2 



*S 



414 



S 



SAE, so 

Saft, soft 

Sail-, to serve, a sore 

S airly, or sairlie, a sore 

Sair't, served 

Sark, a shirt 

Sarkit, provided in shirts 

Saugh, the willow 

Saul, soul 

Saumont, salmon 

Saunt, a saint 

Saut, salt 

Saw, to sow 

Sawm, sowing 

Sax, six 

Scar, to scare, a scare 



Shangan, a stick cleft at one end 
for putting" the tail of a dog, 
&c. into, by way of mischief, 
or to frighten him away 

Shaver, a humourous wag, a bar- 
ber 

Shaw, to shew, a small wood in 
a hollow place 

Shearers, reapers 

Sheep-shank, to think one's self 
nae sheep-shank to be conceited 

Sherra-moor, sherrifF-moor, the 
famous battle fousj'lii in the 
Rebellion. A. D. 1715 

Shough, a ditch, a trench, a 
sluice 



Scaith, to damage, to injure, in-Shiel, a shed 



jury 
Scaud, to scald 
Scauld, to scold 
Scaur, apt to be scared 
Scawl, a scold 
Scon, a kind of bread 
Sconner, a loathing, to lothe 
Scraich, to screamj a 

partridge, &c. 
Screed, to tear, a rent 
Scrieve, to glide swiftly along 
Scrievin, gleesomely, swiftly 
Scrimp, scant 
Scrimpet, scanty 
See'd, did see 
Seizen, seizing 
Sel, self, a body's sel, one's self, 

alone 
Sell't, did sell 
Sen', to send 
Sen't, I, he, or she sent, or did 



Shill, shrill 

Shog, a shock, a push, off at one 

side 
Shool, a shovel 
Shoon, shoes 

Shore, to offer, to threaten 
S hor'd, offered 
hen, Shouther, the shoulder 
Sic, such 

Sicker, sure, steady 
Sidelins, sidelong, slanting 
Siller, silver, money 
Simmer, summer 
Sin, a sou 
Sin', since 
Skaith, to damage, to injure, iii 

jury 
Skellum, a worthless fellow 
Skelp. to strike, to slap ; to walk 

with a smart tripping step ; a 

smart stroke 



send, send it Skelpi-llmmer, a technical term 

Servan', servant, in female scolding 

Settlin, settling ; to get a setlin, Skelpin, walking smartly 

to be frighted into' quietness Skiegh, proud, nice, high mettled 
Sets, sets off, goes away Skinklin, a small portion 

Shaird, a shred, a shard Skirling, shrieking, crying 



415 

cin, to shriek, to cry shrilly Sough, a sig-h, a sound dying on 
Skiirt, shrieked the ear 

Sklent, slant, to run aslant, to Sowansj a dish made of thefari- 

deviate from truth na of oats extracted by means 

Sklented, ran, or hit, in an ob- of the acitous fermentation and 

lique direction • afterwards sweetened by re- 

Skreigh, a scream, to scream peated washings, boiled up to 

Slae, sloe the consistence of a pudding, 

Slude, did slide and eaten with milk, &c. 

Slap, a gate, a breach in a fence Souple, flexible, swift 
Slaw, slow Souttr, a shoemaker 

Slee, sly , sleest, slyest SoM^p, a spoonful, a small quan- 

Sleekit, sleek, sly tity of any thing liquid 

Sliddery, slippery Sowth, to try over a tune with a 

Slype, to fall over, as a wet fur- low whistle 

row from the plough Sowther, solder, to solder, to 

Slypet, fell cement 

Sma% small Spae, to prophesy, to divine 

Smeddum, dust, powder, mettle, Spaul, a limb 

sense Spairge, to dash, to soil, as with 

Smiddy, a smithy mire. 

Smoor, to smother Spates, swollen streams 

Smoor'd, smothered Spaviet, having the spavin 

Smootie, smutty, obscene, ugly Speat, a sweeping torrent, after 
Smytrie, a numerous collection rain or thaw 

of small individuals Speel, to climb 

Snapper, stumble Spence, the country parlour 

Snash, abuse, Billingsgate Spier, to ask, to inquire 

Snaw, snow, to snow Spier't, inquired 

Snaw-broo, melted snow Splatter, a splutter, to splutter 

Snawie, snowy Spleughan, a tobacco-pouch 

Sned, to lop, to cut off Rplore, a frolic, noise, a riot 

Sneshin, snuff S prattle, to scramble 

Snesliin-mdl, a snuff-box Spreckled, spotted, speckled 

Snell, bitter, biting Spring, a quick air in music, a 

Sneck-drawing, trick-contriving Scottish reel 
Sneck, the latchet of a door Sprit, a tough-rooted plant, sonie- 

Snool, one whose spirit is broken tiling like rushes 

with oppressive slavery; to Sprittie, full of sprits 

submit tamely, to sneak Spunk, fire, mettle, wit 

Snoove, to go smoothly and con- Spunkie, mettlesome, fiery; will- 

stantly, to sneak o-wisp, or ignis fatuus 

Snook, to scent or snuff, as a dog Spurtle, a stick used in makin"* 

horse, &c. oat-meal pudding or porridge, 

Snowkit, scented, snuffed a notable Scotch dish 

Sonsie, having sweet engaging Squad, a crew, a party 

looks ; lucky, jolly Squatter, to flatter in water, as 

Soom, to swim a wild duck, &c. 

Sooth, truthi a petty oath S^ualtle, to sprawl 



416 

Squeel, a scream, a screach, to Stocked, made up in shocks as 

scream corn 

Stacher, to stagger Stoor, sounding hollow, strong 

Stack, a rick of corn, hay, &c. & hoarse 

Staggie, dimin. of stag Stot, an ox 

Stalwart, strong, stout Stoup, or stowp, a kind of jug 

Stant', to stand ; stan*t, did stand or dish with a handle 
Stane, a stone Stoure, dust, more particularly 

Stank, did stink, a pool of stand- dust in motion 

ing water Stowlins, by stealth 

Stap, stop Stown, stolen 

Stark, stout Stoyte, stumble 

Startle, to run as cattle stung by S track, did strike 

the gadfly Strae, straw ; to die'a fair strap 

Staumrel, a blockhead, halfwit- death, to die in bed 

ted Straik, did strike 

Staw, did steal, to surfeit Straikit, stroked 

Stech, to cram the belly Strappan, tall and handsome 

Stechin, cramming Straught, straight 

Steek, to shut, a stich Streek, streiched, to stretch 

Steer, to molest, to stir Striddle, straddle 

Steeve, firm, compacted Stroan, to spout, to piss 

Stell, a still Studdie, an anvil . 

Sten, to rear as a horse Stumpie, dimin. of stump 

Sten't, reared Strunt, spirituous liquor of any 

Stents, tribute, dues of any kind kind ; to walk sturdily 
Stey, steep steyest, steepest Stuff, corn or pulse of any kind 

StibblCj stubble, stibble-rig, the Start, trouble, to molest 

reaper in harvest who takes Sturtin, frighted 

the lead Sucker, sugai^ 

Stick an stow, totally, altogether Sud, should 
Stilt, a crutch, to halt, to limp, Sugh, the continued rushing 

to halt noise of wind or water 

Stimpart, the eighth part of a Suthron, southern, an old name 

Winchester bushel for the English nation 

Stirk, a cow or bullock a year Swarf, swoon 

old Swaird, sward 

Stock, a plant or root of cole- Swall'd, swelled 

wort, cabbage, &c. Swank, stately, jolly 

Stockin' stocking ; throwing the Swankie or swanker, tight strap- 

stockin', when the bride and pUng young fellow or girl 

bridegroom are put into bv:d, Swap, an exchange, to barter 

and the candle out, the former Swat, did sweat 

throws a stocking at random Swatch, a sample 

among the company, ^and the Swats, drink, good ale 

person whom it strike's is the Sweaten, sweating 

next that will be married Sweer, extremely averse 

Stock, a shock of any kind of Swoor, did swear 

grain Swinge, to beat, to whip 



4ir 

Swirlie, knaggy, full of knots Swither, to hesitate in choice, an 
Swirl, a curve, an eddying blast, irresolute wavering in choice 

or pool, a knot in wood Syne, since, ago, then 

Swith, get away 

T 

TACKETS, a kind of nails for Themsel, themselves 

driving into the heels of shoes Thick, intimate, familiar 
Tae, a toe ; three tae'd^ having Thieveless, cold, dry, tpohen of 

three prongs a persorCs demeanor 

Tairge, target Thir, these 

Tak, to takfe ; takin, taking Thirl, to thrill 

Tamtallan, the name of a moun- Thirled, thrilled, vibrated 

tain Thole, to suffer, to endure 

Tangle, a sea weed Thowe, a thaw, to thaw 

Tap, the top Thowless, slack, lazy 

Tapetless, heedless, foolish Thrang, throng, a crowd 

Tarrow, to murmur at one's al- Thrapple, throat, windpipe 

lowance Thraw, to sprain, to twist, t© 

Tarrow't, murmured contradict 

Tarry breeks, a sailor Thrawin, twisting, &c. 

Tauld, or tald, told Tlirawn, sprained, twisted 

Taupie, a foOlish thoughtless Threap, to maintain by dmt of 

young person assertion 

Tauted, or tautie, matted toge- Threshin, thrashing 

thcr, spoken of hair or loool Threteen, thirteen 
Tawie, that allows itself peacea-Thristle, thistle 

bly to be handled, spoken of a Through, to go on with, to make 

horse, cotv, t^c. out 

Teat, a small quantity Throutber, pell-mell, confusedly 

Tedding, spreading after the Thud, to make a loud intermit- 

mower tent noise 

Ten-hours-bite, a slight feed to Thumpit, thumped 

the horses while in the yoke, Thysel, thyself 

in the forenoon TilHt, to it 

Tent, a field pulpit, hed cau- Timmer, timber 

tion, to take heed Tine, to lose ; tint, lost 

Tentie, heedful, cautious Tinkler, a tinker 

Tentless, heedless Tint, the gate, lost the way 

Teugh, tough Tip, a ram 

Thack, thatch, thack an* rape, Tippence, two-pence 

clothing necessaries Tirl, to make a slight noise, to 

Thae, these uncover 

Thairms, small-guts, fiddle- Tirlin, uncovering 

strings Tither, the other 

Thankit, thanked Tittle, to whisper 

Thegither, together Tittlin, whispering 



418 

Tocher, marriage portion Trow, to believe 

Tod, a fox Trowth, Iruth, a petty oath 

Toddle, to totter, like the walk Trysied, appointed ; to tryste, 

of a child to make an appointment 

Toddlin, tottering Try't, tryed 

Toom, empty Tug-, a piece of rope making 

Toop, a ram part of a horses' branks or 

Toun, a hamlet, a farm-house halter to serve as a bridle rein, 

Tout, the blast of a horn, or or to hitch two horses toge- 

trumpet, to blow a horn, 8tc. ther in a plough &c. 
Tow, a rope Tulzie, a quarrel, to quarrel, to 

Tovvmond, a twelve-month fight 

Towzie, rough, shaggy Twa, two 

Toy, a very old fashion of female Twa-three, a few 

head-dress *Twad, it would 

Toyte, to totter like old age Twal, twelve; twal-pennie worth, 
Transmugrify'd, transmigrated, a small quantity, a penny 

metamorphosed worth 

Trashrie, trash N B. One penny English, is 12d 

Trickle, full of tricks l^cots 

'I'rig, spruce, neat Twin, to part 

Trimly, excellently Tyke, a dog 

Trews, trowsers 

u 

UNCO, strange, uncouth, very, Unweeting, unwotting, unknow- 

very great, prodigious ing 

Uncos, news Unsicker, unsure, unsteady 

Unken'd, unknown Urchin, a hedge-hog 

Unskaith'd, undamaged, unhurt Upo', upon 

V 

VAP'RIN, vapouring Virl, a ring round a column, &c 

Vera, very 

w 

WA', wall ; wa*s walls Waft, the cross thread that goes 

Wabster, a weaver from the shuttle through the 

Wad, would, to bet, a bet web 

Wadna, would not Waifu', wailing 

Wae, woe, sorrowful Wair, to lay out, to expend 

Waft, woof Wide, choice, to choose 
Waesucks ! or waes me, alas ! Ward, chose, chosen 

O the pity I Walie, ample, large, jolly ; also 



419 

an interjection of distress Wheep, to fly nimbly, to jerk ; 
Wame, the belly penny-vvheep, small-beer 

Wamefou', a belly full Whase, whose 

Wanchansie, unlucky Whatreck, nevertheless 

Wanerestfu', restless Whid, the motion of a hare, run- 

Wark, work ning but not frighted, a he 

Wark-lume, a -"ool to work with Whiddin, running as a hare or 
Warl or warld, world coney 

Warlock, a wizzard, Whigmeleeries, whims, fancies, 

Warly, worldly, eager on amas- crochets 

sing wealth Whingin, crying, complaining, 

Warren, a warrant, to warrant fretting 

Warst, worst Whirligigums, useless orna- 

Warstl'd, or warsl'd, wrestled ments, trifling appendages 
Warstle, wrestling, struggle Whissle, a whistle, to whistle 
Wastrie, prodigality Whisht, silence, to hold one's 

W^a, wet ; I wat, I wot, I know whisht, to be silent 
Watir-brose, brose made of meal Whisk, to sweep, to lash 

and water simply, without the Whiskit, lashed 

additions of milk, butter, St* Whitter, a hearty draught of li- 
Wattle, a twig, a wand quor 

Wauble, to swing, to reel .Whun-stane, a whin-stone 

Wuught, draught Whyles, whiles sometimes 

Waukit, thickened as fullers do Wi', with 

cloth Wick, to strike a stone in ap ob- 

Waukrife, not apt to sleep lique direction, a term in ciir- 

Waur, worse, to worst ling 

Waur't, worsted Wicker, willow (the smaller sort) 

Wean, r weanie, a child Wiel, a small whirl-pool 

Wearie, or Weary ; many a wea- Wifie, a dimin. or endearing 

rie body, many a different per- term for wife 

son. - Wimple, to meander 

Weason, the windpipe Wimpl't, meandered 

Weaving the stocking, knit- Wimplin, waving, meandering 

ting Win, to wind, to winnow 

Wee, little ; wee things, little Win't, wind, as a bottom of yarn 

ones ; wee bit, a small matter Win' wind ; win's winds 
Weel, well ; weelfare, welfare Winna, will not 
Weet, rain, wetness Winnock, a window 

Wierd, fate Winsome, hearty, vaunted gay 

We'se, Ave shall Wintle, a staggering motion ; 

Wha, Who to stagger, to reel 

Whaizle, to wheze Winze, an oath 

Whalpit, whelped Wiss, to wish 

Whang, a leathern string, aWithoutten, without 

piece of cheese, bread, &c. to Wizen'd, hide bound, dried, 

give the strappado shrunk 

Whare, where, whare*er, where- Wonner, a wonder, a contemp* 

ever . tuous appellation 



42U 

tVons, dwells Wumble, a wimble, an augei^ 

Wi}o\ wool Wraith, a spirit, a ghost ; appn- 

AVoo, to court, to make love to rition exactly like- a living per- 
Woodie, a withe son, whose appearance is said 

Wooer-bab, the garter knotted to forebode tlie person's an. 
below the knee with a couple proaching death 
of loops Wrang, wrong, to wrong 

Wordy, worthy Wreeth, a drifted heap fjf snow 

Worset,. worsted Wyle, beguile 

W^ow, an exclamation of plea- W^yliecoat, a child's flannel night 
sure or wonder gown ' 

Wrack, to teaze, to vex Wyte, blame, to blame 

Wud-mad, distracted 



Ye this pronoun is frequently or field 

used for thou Yill, ale 

Yearns, longs much Yird, earth 

Yea'-lins, born in the same year, Y#kin, a journey at the plough 

cocAals &c. a spell of work done at 

Year, is used for both singular one time before the horses- or 

and plural, years cattle are unhitched: ' 

Y^eil, barren, that gives no milk Yont, beyond 
Yerk, to lash, to jerk Yoursel, yourself 

Yerh^^erked, lashed Yowe, an ewe 

»Yest^fen, yesternight Yowie, dimin. of yowc 

;yett, a gale, such as is usually at Yule, Christmas.' 
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